


Learning to Lie

by ChocolateQueenie



Category: Divergent - All Media Types
Genre: British English Spelling, Canon-Typical Violence, Eric Does Not Know How to be in a Relationship, F/M, Hope Justice is NOT a Mary-Sue, Justice Stephenson is Not Okay, Major Temper Tantrums, Mental Instability, Rushed romance, Some dubious consent, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, mix of movie and book, some canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 13:32:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 120,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13637265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateQueenie/pseuds/ChocolateQueenie
Summary: Justice Stephenson is made for Candor. She cannot stay, not with the ghosts that weigh her down and wrap their fingers around her throat. She has nowhere else to go. With a photograph hidden in a pocket and a knife in hand, she must make her choice in front of the factions and know that there is no going back."Black and white. That is how Candor see the world. Truth is good. Lies are bad. People are good. People are bad. There is no in between and no shades of grey. You must speak the truth of everything. You must face the dishonesty and cast it aside. There is no room for it in the life of a Candor, even a dependent. It is exhausting. You think something, you must say it, or be accused of hiding something and lying. Sometimes, a lie is kinder. It would have been for me. There is no room for lies, or coddling, or even kindness. They believe that truth is kindness. It is not. Not always anyway. I do not agree with them – my parents’ faction. It cannot be mine."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm a little nervous about posting this in all honesty. It's been a project of mine for a little while, a way to vent a lot of frustration from my personal life, and Justice has become quite important to me. She's kind of messed up, but she's my twisted little monster, even though I know she's not that likable. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story and, even if you don't, please add a comment on how I might be able to improve.
> 
> Thanks!

Black and white. That is how Candor see the world. Truth is good. Lies are bad. People are good. People are bad. There is no in between and no shades of grey. You must speak the truth of everything. You must face the dishonesty and cast it aside. There is no room for it in the life of a Candor, even a dependent. It is exhausting. You think something, you must say it, or be accused of hiding something and lying. Sometimes, a lie is kinder. It would have been for me. There is no room for lies, or coddling, or even kindness. They believe that truth is kindness. It is not. Not always anyway. I do not agree with them – my parents’ faction. It cannot be mine. Maybe it could have been once, but it cannot anymore. I cannot live with the weight of certain truths on my shoulders. I see them every day. I see them in my mother’s eyes. I see them in my father’s solemn expression. There is only one escape and I must find the courage for it.

My hands are steady as I contemplate my choices and pull a brush through my hair. Mom will want me presentable today and, if I am not, she will not mince her words. It is not done in Candor. My lip curls delicately at the thought, but I smooth my expression into a clear one. They cannot read you if you are blank, after all. My face stays emotionless as I scrape my hair back into a sleek, high ponytail. I put a thick, black headband on top of my skull. It feels a little too tight and constricts my head, but it looks presentable. Mom will approve of my hair, at least. I give the ponytail a final tug to ensure the elastic will not slip free and tiptoe towards the closet. The carpet is soft and white between my toes. It feels nice and I will miss it, because I have to leave, but the question is where to go.

The Aptitude Test told me Candor, but Candor is not an option. Not for me.

I frown at my black and white wardrobe and try to imagine another colour. Blue? Grey? Red and yellow? Or plain black? I cannot quite picture myself in any colours but black and white. It is what I have worn since the day I was born. It is what my parents expect me to wear until the day I die. Today, though, will be the last day that I wear black and white. Perhaps I will wear black exclusively instead. Many Candor transfer to Dauntless and vice versa. My lips pinch thoughtfully and I robotically pull my best dress from the closet and step into it. It is mostly white and hugs me to my knees, but is cinched around the waist with a thin, black belt with a delicate, white buckle. After a moment of debate, I decide on a pair of flat, black shoes and pull a black blazer on over my bared arms. The dress has no sleeves, after all, and has a square neckline that exposes my collarbone and the tops of my breasts. I do not think Mom took in my developing figure into consideration when she bought it for me.

There is a final check in the mirror to ensure that everything is in place. My hands adjust my headband and my eyes flicker downwards. The mirror is on a vanity, which is painted a bland white, and there are a few boxes neatly set on the surface. The boxes hold things like jewellery and hair accessories and make up. I reach out to the middle one. I flip it open. Inside, there are hairbands and clips and slides, all neatly arranged and divided into separate sections. I reach past all of that and lift the hard plastic from the black box. It is set carefully on the vanity and a picture grins back at me. My fingers reverently pick it up and carefully tuck it into the pocket of my blazer. It is an act of defiance, a small one, but one nonetheless. My new faction will not approve, but this one thing I will never be able to let go.

The box is put back together and put back into place. I move out of the room and down the stairs on silent, unobtrusive feet. In the kitchen, just down the hall, sits my parents in thick silence, as ever. They murmur robotic greetings when I sit in my usual seat. The food is nearly cold, but I eat it robotically. There’s the gentle clink of cutlery meeting crockery, but that is the only sound in our cold kitchen. I do not look at my parents and they don’t look at me. None of us speak. There are no reassuring words, or encouragements to choose the faction I was born into, or comforts that, if I leave, things will be okay. Maybe the last thing would be a bit much to ask in this faction, because they will not find my abandonment of them okay. The other things, though, they would be nice to hear, especially if they were true. I do not know if I want them to want me to stay. Maybe it is best we do not speak. We might not like what we have to say.

Breakfast is concluded wordlessly and I collect the plates and put them in the sink. There is no time to wash them, as I normally would. “Justice, we must get to the bus,” my father states in his deep voice. It is a voice that could be comforting and warm, if he made it so. Instead, it is harsh and the words always come out clipped, as though he is irritated. Perhaps he is. Perhaps he will be happier with me gone. “Hurry,” he insists and I obediently follow him and my mother from the house.

I want to take my time. I want to drag the moment out. I want to remember it all. These will be the last moments spent here. I should feel sadder. Instead, my fingers stroke the photograph in the pocket of my blazer and I move out of the small house that has been home for eighteen years. There is no reassuring hand on my shoulder. There is no encouraging smile sent my way. We are all too broken for that. There is nothing to read if there is nothing there. We are empty. We are nothing. The truth has done that to us. The truth sucks everything out of you until there is nothing left. Sometimes, we need the lies to keep ourselves warm when the truth leaves us cold and exposed.

The bus stop is two blocks away from the house. The buildings we pass are all uniform black and white, alternating in colour, and the Candor symbol of uneven scales is stamped on just about everything. It is their way of saying that there is no escaping the truth. Only years of practice keeps my lips from twisting at the notion. They have eyes everywhere. They always know if you are lying. They see every single flaw. I hate it. I hate the lack of privacy. I hate that everyone sees me. I want to hide. I want to blend in. It is hard to blend in when you are stark and clear in white and black and all anyone sees is ice. A girl I have grown up with – Melanie – once told me that I became stone. She told me that I am nothing anymore. She told me that there is nothing to see inside of me but empty space.

I am empty space.

Mom touches my elbow with the tips of her fingers to urge me onto the bus when it arrives. My body jerks slightly at the unfamiliar contact. She releases me as soon as I move, as though she cannot stand to have a physical connection with me. I do not react again. I just take a seat that an Abnegation boy offers to me. I do not even thank him. I did not ask him to move. I settle myself in the seat and stare out of the window. There is dirt clogged in the corners. My fingers itch to pick it out and make things tidy and orderly. I have to focus on the blurred buildings we pass to rid myself of that urge. My hands fold neatly in my lap and I cross my ankles. Prim and proper – just as Mom taught me. For the moment, I will be the daughter they raised. The daughter they shunned.

As always, the bus is crowded on the day of the Choosing Ceremony and, when I chance a look around, there are many nervous looking people of my age. The Abnegation teens stand to the right of my seat – a slight, blonde girl having given up her seat for Mom – and they both wear calm expressions, but their eyes are distant. A couple of loud Candor are blustering, pretending to have confidence when they do not. There are some Erudite attempting to stay poised, but their chatter is strained and they seem to start snapping at each other the closer we get to the Hub. It is interesting. Nevertheless, I do not allow my eyes to linger on them for long and smoothly stand when we near the Hub. Mom follows a moment later and the Abnegation wordlessly move to allow us to walk to the front of the bus.

My family is the first off, but we are hardly the first to arrive. There is a group of Amity climbing from the trucks and the Dauntless are racing towards the building from the train. Both factions are loud. Candor are called loud mouths, but Amity and Dauntless are louder. I barely even look at them as I follow my parents into the Hub and onto the elevator. Some Amity greet us politely, but Dad just gives them a cold glare and the elevator ascends in awkward silence. I do not feel guilty. We did not ask for their kindness. We have no need of their kindness. We have truth in its place and it is stifling. It is suffocating. Would taking kindness over truth be better? Would I feel better? Would I feel human? I do not know the answer to that question and Amity is out of the question anyway. I cannot stand singing.

The elevator doors slide open and reveal the semi-circular room. The lower, front portion is white and has a slightly raised podium that holds five, large bowls that represent each faction. Inside them are different substances. Where will my blood land? Over the glass of Candor? In the water of Erudite? Across the grey stone of Abnegation? Seeping into the dirt of Amity? Or burning on the coals of Dauntless? I cannot go back to Candor. It holds too many memories. I cannot go to Amity. It would be too much of a betrayal. I am not selfless enough for Abnegation. I have been wallowing in my own emotions for too long. Am I smart enough for Erudite? Am I brave enough for Dauntless? How can I know? Can I truly go against my test results? It is not how things are supposed to work. The test is supposed to tell you what to do, but what if you do not agree with the answer you receive?

The upper portion of the room is made of seats that are ascending levels. They are split into five sections, one for each faction. Dad chooses some seats on the aisle, near the front, of the Candor section and wordlessly gestures for me to sit at the edge. Mom sits on his other side and I am closer to him than I have been in years. I am careful not to touch him. Instead, I fold my hands in my lap and cross my ankles and stare ahead of me. This year’s representative is Marcus Eaton of Abnegation – the leader of Abnegation in fact and, by proxy, the city. Something about that man makes my skin crawl. I do not like the coldness in his eyes, but no one else seems to see it. Perhaps it is just my imagination. Whatever it is, I do not look at him. Instead, my eyes sweep thoughtfully over the bowls and run my remaining two options through my head. Erudite or Dauntless. Dauntless or Erudite. Intelligence or bravery. Courage or intellect. Brain or brawn.

I barely notice the ceremony beginning. I only realise that it has when the first candidate strides over the bowls and chooses his home faction of Amity. He wears an easy smile on his face. He is lucky. I tune into the names being called out by Marcus Eaton. My heart thuds hard against my ribcage and my fingers threaten to tremble, but I tighten my hands and keep my spine straight. I will make my choice. I will not regret it. I will not live a life that is empty but for the regrets. I will not live a life where the truth only drives people away instead of bringing them closely together, as Candor is supposed to. They lied to me when they said the truth would free us. My truth only chains me down. Truth is heavy. Truth is chains. Truth is binding. Truth is suffocating.

“Justice Stephenson.”

My name echoes through the hall. I stand smoothly and my hands stroke any wrinkles from my skirt. My footsteps are light thuds on the ground as I make my way to the bowls. Marcus holds a clean knife out to me and I take it wordlessly. The tip of the blade digs into the tip of my index finger. It bites. It is almost a relief to have this pain in my finger. I hold my hand in front of me, careful not to get any blood on my white dress, and my eyes flicker between the water and the coals. Dauntless or Erudite. Erudite or Dauntless. My head tilts to the side. I feel my ponytail brush across the bottoms of my shoulder blades. I am not particularly clever, nor particularly stupid. I do not feel brave, nor cowardly. I am just present. I am empty. I am clay ready to be moulded into whatever they deem fit.

My blood sizzles and burns and the Dauntless roar happily. I step down without looking over at the Candor I am leaving. I do not look at my parents. Hands slap down on my shoulders and back and cheers echo in my ears. I tense slightly beneath the hands on my shoulders and back. Those hands push me into a chair and I sit tall. Fingers catch in my hair, ruffling the sleek locks. I automatically smooth my hair back into place. The Dauntless simmer down enough for the ceremony to continue. I lose interest in it and focus my gaze at some point on the wall opposite me. I am empty space. I am a blank canvas to be made into whatever another wants. I am soft clay to be moulded. I belong to Dauntless. They will construct me anew. I will no longer be the girl shackled by her truths. I will be the girl forged in the fire.

A girl in grey sits beside me at some point. That is a surprise. I do not know of any Abnegation that have ever transferred to Dauntless. She tugs at the sleeves of her dress nervously and clasps her hands together in her lap. I look away from her and stand when the Dauntless do. Like the other transfers, I am step behind the sea of black bodies that pull us along. I follow them down the stairs and am winded before we reach the bottom. My shoes threaten to fall off. My skirt has to be hitched up. My blazer whips about my hips. I was not made for running. My outfit is not appropriate. I should have worn pants and stronger shoes. Perhaps I have made the wrong choice. There is nothing to be done now, however. I must struggle through the burning in my legs and the embarrassingly loud breaths I drag in and release.

The Dauntless stop, for which I am grateful, but then they begin to climb iron towers that lead up the train platform. Inwardly, I groan, but, outwardly, I keep a stoic expression and begin the climb too. My skirt is bunched almost obscenely around my upper thighs and I’m sure the people below can see my underwear, but no one catcalls or shouts. At least, if they do, I do not hear them. I concentrate on finding the correct foot holds and hand holds. It would not do to fall. I heave myself onto the platform beside an Erudite boy, who steadies me with a friendly hand when my shoe catches in a loose metal panel. He grins at me, but it is not malicious. I nod my silent gratitude. I would be unable to speak anyway with the way I am panting and clutching my ribs with one hand.

My shoes are shoved more firmly onto my feet as the train nears. It is slowing down, but it does not come to a stop. For a split second, I am stunned, but the Erudite boy tugs on my arm and I race after him. I am not a graceful runner. I am clumsy and ungainly. It is not only my inappropriate outfit. I am just inelegant. It is one thing to be poised whilst walking at a sedate pace, but it is another when you are racing a train. I watch the others sling themselves into the train. The Erudite boy goes in before me. I push myself harder at seeing him succeed. My pride will not allow him to succeed where I do not. I manage to grab the handle. I wrench my foot up and it slams into the foothold, before I swing into the train. My body staggers. I have to grab the side of the train to stay upright, but I am in the train. I have passed the first test.

Uncomfortably, I weave through the crush of teens and find a relatively secluded spot near the back of the train. I sit down. My shoes are peeling at the fronts due to the unfamiliar activity. I stare the faded grey beneath the black material. I do not quite know how to sit. Should I sit with my knees drawn to my chest? Or perhaps with my legs crossed? Or maybe with them stretched out, heedless of any obstruction that they would cause? In the end, I curl them beneath me and hide my scuffed shoes from view. I pull my headband free, smooth my hair, and push the headband back into place. That done, I fold my hands together in my lap – one over the other – and keep my eyes on the still open doors of the train. We will need to jump off soon and I doubt the train will stop any more than it did before.

The train is filled with the excited, eager chatter of my fellow initiates. Unsurprisingly, the majority are Dauntless born, but there are another five Candor, three Erudite, one Abnegation, and an Amity boy sat opposite me. He is crying. I try not to look at him. I do not like tears. They bring too many demands for the truth of someone’s feelings. If they are crying, they are feeling an extreme of some emotion. I do not like tears. They are worthless. They bring no comfort to any. They are foolish. What does he hope to accomplish by crying? He is big. He looks big even curled in on himself with his face pressed into his knees. He made the wrong choice and now I expect he shall be factionless. If not today, then he shall become factionless at some point. I very much doubt that Dauntless will take on a boy that cries because he had to catch a train.

I do not know how long passes, but there is a sudden shout that has me jerking up. “They’re jumping!” a voice hollers. I stagger up. My legs protest from being curled up for so long, but I force them to move and watch the Dauntless fearlessly leaping out. I pull my skirt up a little more and, as a clear patch of roof looms, take a running leap from the train. For what feels like a lifetime, I am airborne. I am flying. I am free. There are no truths chaining my limbs. There is no guilt weight in my stomach. There is no lead in my bones. I am as light as a feather. I am soaring. I am unburdened. It feels good. I almost want to laugh, but it is a foreign feeling and makes me feel odd. My lungs have no air in them anyway. I could not laugh even if I had the capacity. I can barely breathe.

My body slams into gravel on its side. Small stones scrape up my cheek as I roll. My blazer tears up the side and my dress is ruined. I have lost a shoe somewhere, but I cannot see it over the rooftop as I carefully ease myself up. My body does not want to move, but I force it to. My other shoe is swiftly discarded and the gravel digs into the bare, delicate soles of my feet. I raise up onto my tiptoes. It hurts my aching legs, but I do not mind. I push my hands into my pockets. Just for a moment. Just to check. The smooth photograph crackles slightly beneath my fingertips. I want to draw it out. I want to inspect it. I cannot here. I have to leave it in my pocket, safe, and brush the gravel from my hair and clothes and skin. I straighten my headband and push my skirt back down to my knees, despite how dirty it is.

“Alright! Listen up!” a rough voice barks. My head snaps up at the sound and my eyes focus on a man stood on the edge of the roof, as though is not a deadly drop behind him. He is older than us – early to mid-twenties maybe – and wears a severe expression. There are studs over one eyebrow and big, black ones in both of his earlobes. Down his neck are bold, oddly train track like tattoos either side of his throat. “I’m Eric – I’m one of your leaders,” he informs us as we shuffle into place in front of him. His eyes sweep over us and, from the curl of his lip, he is not impressed. He drops down from the ledge. He makes it look easy. For him, it more than likely is. “If you want to enter Dauntless, this is the way in,” he announces and jerks his chin at the ledge that he was just standing on. “And, if you don’t have the guts to jump, then you don’t belong in Dauntless.”

“Is there water at the bottom or something?” an Erudite boy asks. He is the one that steadied me on the platform.

Eric smirks mockingly. It is not a nice expression. “I guess you’ll find out,” he taunts. He pauses as some shift uncertainly. “Or not,” he shrugs nonchalantly. My eyes flicker from him to the ledge. Something must be at the bottom to catch us. They would not kill us. He has no malicious intent in his eyes. “Someone’s got to go first – who’s it going to be?” he demands and folds his arms over his broad chest.

He really is big. The biggest man I have ever seen. He stands over six foot and is more than likely twice my width. Stood next to him, I would be tiny. I am so busy examining him that I do not notice the Abnegation girl stepping forwards to take the plunge. A Candor boy that I cannot remember says a cutting remark when she removes her cardigan, but no one stops him. It is not my place. If she wants to be Dauntless, she will have to stand up for herself. He should not be cruel, though. Not when she is the bravest of us so far. I shift forwards as Eric snaps at her to hurry up. She does not even acknowledge him. She takes in a breath and, as my feet reach the ledge, she drops. I peer over and all I see is her disappearing into a black hole at the bottom.

“You want to go next?” Eric demands and I look at him. He is closer than I expected. His eyes flicker down to my bare feet. “Lose something, initiate?” he smirks. My eyes move down and my black painted toenails wiggle in the gravel.

“They fell off,” I admit quietly.

He barks out a harsh laugh as the other initiates snigger. I choose to ignore that as I hitch my skirt back up around my thighs. The fabric is ruined beyond repair now. I push myself up onto the ledge. My feet almost slip and my head spins at the height. I gulp and adjust my balance. My arms are held slightly out from my body to help keep me in place. My hair tickles the back of my neck. The boy is making rude comments again, but I ignore him. He is not important. He never will be. All that matters is the here and now. I ignore the snarl of Eric. He is not important either. I adjust my headband one last time and then step off the edge and plummet downwards into the unknown. My arms and legs windmill. My hair whips across my face. My breath leaves my lungs. I am falling, falling, falling, and I cannot stop myself. I have no control. Gravity is the only thing with a say in this matter.

My body hits something and bounces lightly. It is a net. Strong hands grasp me and pull me towards the edge of it. I think I flash people my underwear as I swing my legs over the edge. I am lifted down and dark blue eyes meet my hazy ones. It is a man – about Eric’s age – but he is shorter and leaner, but by no means less powerful than the larger man. I can feel this one’s strength in his hands when he lifts me down from the net, like I weigh nothing. He looks tame compared to Eric and other Dauntless, though. He still looks severe and stern, however, and he frowns down at me, especially when he sees my bare feet. I know it is strange, but I truly did lose them on the journey here. I did not choose an appropriate outfit, as is proven when I have to heave my skirt back down over my exposed thighs.

“Name?” the man demands.

“Justice,” I answer automatically.

“Second jumper: _Justice_!” he barks and the gathered Dauntless cheer loudly and clap. “Wait over there,” the man orders and gives me a light push towards the Abnegation girl.

A look at the board my name is appearing on tells me her name is Tris. A pleased flush colours her cheeks and she is quite clearly fighting a smile. She is too Abnegation to let her pleasure fully show. The jump had been rather invigorating, but I am too numb to have properly enjoyed it. I prefer jumping off the train to leaping into a dank pit. At least when we jumped from the train our goal was clear. The jump from the roof had been into the unknown. I do not like unknown variables. They make my skin crawl. Things must have visible beginnings and endings and all things must be in their correct order. It is the only way to prevent disaster from happening. It is the only way to keep our world safe. It is the only way to keep people alive.

Bodies drop into the net, one after the other, and I do not keep track of their names. All the initiates crush together, but the Dauntless born are noticeably louder than the transfers. It is chaotic. It is unorganised. It is messy. I do not like it. I fold my hands in front of myself and my fingers bite into my hands. I find a spot on the wall over the net to focus on and steady myself. I find the steadiness in the constant. It’s comforting. It calms my twisting insides and softens the alarms going off in my brain. I straighten my hair and smooth my clothes best that I can. I have control of that, at least. My dress, however, is unsalvageable, as is my torn blazer. The dress is frayed at the hem and covered in dirt and small scuff marks. My legs are grazed and my feet ache from standing on the cold, stone floor.

At some point, the Dauntless born follow a woman and the transfers follow a man named Four. A Candor girl gets mouthy about the name, but he shuts her down. He leads us through the place he calls the Pit, which is an apt name. It is a cavernous pit with pathways circling it, but there are no railings to prevent someone plummeting to their death. At the bottom of the Pit is a crush of Dauntless. A sea of black clad bodies moving as one entity. There are flashes of maroon red. It is chaos. I do not understand chaos. I am glad to follow Four away from the Pit. He leads us through the narrow pathways and I almost scream when he leads us into what he tells us will be our dormitory – boys and girls. That is not what captures my attention, though. It is the filth that clings to everything in the room. It smells of stale bodies and uncleanliness and sweat. I freeze in the doorway and people jostle me as they surge into the room.

I think I am going to be sick.

“If you like this, you’ll _love_ the bathroom,” Four drawls and I glare at him.

“We cannot live in this… _squalor_ ,” I protest. His eyes cut to me and I know I have spoken out of turn, but it is so disgusting. “Are there at least cleaning supplies available?” I demand and he steps closer until he’s towering over me, but I am not scared. I cannot be scared.

“Sure, your highness, check the cupboard in the bathroom,” Four answers. The others let out snorts of laughter at his name for me, but I do not care. “All of you, change and I’ll take you to burn your old clothes,” he announces, stepping back from me. “You have five minutes.”

There is a scramble for the clothes laid out on the beds. I pick mine up with the tips of my fingers. I put the socks on first and then my pants, but I have to hike my skirt up over my hips. I hear some catcalls, but ignore them. They are childish. It is not my fault they have never seen so much flesh from a female. I unzip my dress and slip the straps from my shoulders, allowing it to fall to the ground. More catcalls go up, but I simply pull a black, V-neck t-shirt on and slip on the provided jacket. It has an orange lining and orange edging the pockets. It is very stiff and military. The combat boots are heavy and will take some getting used to after the light footwear of Candor, but I lace them tightly and find them the correct size. I adjust my hair, choosing to keep the plain black headband in it, and trail out after the others to find Four with my dress and blazer in my hand.

I let the others surge on ahead as they giggle and talk with excite and nervously. When I am at the back of the group, unseen and ignored, I put my hand into the pocket of my blazer and withdraw the photograph. It is put safely in the zip pocket of my pants and the zip is fastened firmly. I know I would get into trouble, should the Dauntless find it, but I cannot get rid of it. My fingers brush over my pocket and I twist my hands into the fabric of Candor. It is mine. It cannot be mine. I hold onto them, perhaps a little longer than I should, and then toss them into the fire pits that Four takes us to. I want to watch them burn, but Four urges us on to where the Dauntless are all eating. It is loud. It is a cacophony of noise that rings in my ears. It is messy. It is pandemonium.

There is safety in numbers, so I tag along with the other transfers and sit on the edge of the Abnegation girl’s group. I do not join their conversation. They do attempt to draw me in and give me some odd looks when I stay silent, but they do not insist. I eat a hamburger in silence. The noise everyone else provides is more than enough. I am not used to such uproar. It is overwhelming. I put more food in my mouth to distract myself. I am acutely aware of the way I am sat, tall and upright and poised, so unlike the others around me. Some even break the cardinal rule of no elbows on the table. They do not ask for things to be passed to them – they simply reach across the table for it. I am bumped multiple times by people reaching for things close to me. It takes everything I have not to cringe when they touch me. I am not used to it.

Suddenly, the Dauntless begin to slam their cups onto the table, spilling the liquid inside of them. I want to cringe, but swallow the urge and lay my cutlery neatly on my plate. I turn to look at what they are all staring at. There’s a man stood on the higher balcony over us. He is dark skinned with close cropped hair and has a frown on his face. He stands with his hands braced against the railing of the balcony, spread out from his body, and his dark eyes rove over the crowd. He easily picks out the small groups of initiates. No doubt he has multiple years of experience in finding us. I stare back at him unflinchingly. He is obviously a leader, but will he be overseeing our initiation? Or will Eric? I do not know. I have realised today that I do not know many things.

“Initiates, stand,” the man calls. His voice is sharp and gravelly and he is clearly used to being obeyed. None of us hesitate in rising to our feet. “I am Max – a leader here at Dauntless,” he announces. I was right. “You have chosen the warrior faction, tasked with the protection of this city and its inhabitants,” he states clearly and his voice rings over the now silent dining area. “We believe in the ordinary acts of bravery that lead to one person standing up for another,” he says. That is a nice ideal. It is one I hope I can follow. “Respect that and do us proud.”

Cheers echo through the compound. If there were windows, I am sure they would rattle. My fingers twitch to cover my ears, but I keep my hands firmly folded in front of me and my eyes on Max. He may have more to say. If he does, I do not hear, because strong hands suddenly grasp me and lift me. I struggle, but the people holding me merely laugh and push me upwards until I am off my feet and being passed across the crowd. I am tense and uncomfortable. I see others laughing, but I feel no amusement or joy at this predicament. I want those hands off of me. I want my feet back on the ground. This is not okay. There is no control. There is nothing but noise and hands and unwanted physical contact. If these things happen often in Dauntless, I do not know how I will survive.

 

* * *

 

 

A rude wake-up call is our alarm the next morning. I groan, twisting into my scratchy blankets, but a man’s voice barks at us insistently until we are all out of bed. He orders us to meet him in the Pit in ten minutes and leaves. People around me stumble for clothing and battle for space in the bathroom. I am small and unobtrusive. People don’t notice me sliding in to occupy a freshly scrubbed sink. No one notices the cleanliness. I did it while they were all asleep. I brush my teeth and comb my hair into a smooth, sleek ponytail, which is held in place by my wide, black headband. I check my clothes are neat and presentable, then leave the dorm.

Some follow me, as though I know what I’m doing. I do not. I merely remember how to get to the Pit. My mind had organised the information in preparation. I stay silent as I walk. My boots are too heavy, but I am sure I shall get used to them. They thud loudly when I walk. It is not only my boots that are loud and cumbersome. Others also are not used to such footwear and our group sounds like a stampede, especially with the nervous chatter behind me. I feel eyes on me, but no one attempts to speak to me. For that, I am grateful. I have never been very good at social interaction. I am awkward and usually end up saying the wrong thing. Like all Candor, I say whatever is in my brain at the time my mouth opens, but I do not generally like my thoughts and, therefore, others do not either. I prefer solitude.

Four and Eric are waiting in the Pit. Four is stood tall with his back straight and his shoulders squared, but Eric is lounging against a block of stone I assume is used for a seat. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, one kicked over the other, and his arms are folded over his broad chest. His biceps look to be wider than my leg. He looks lazy and relaxed, but his eyes are sharp. His expression is blank, but his eyes are calculating and they rove over the group of initiates. He is watching our reactions as Four explains our training. He is watching to see who is already balking at the thought of what we have to go through to be groomed into the perfect Dauntless. He reminds of a big tomcat I once saw hunting rats in an alleyway. Eyes sharp and body always ready to pounce, no matter casual he might look. He is the cat and we are the rats. It is an interesting concept.

Four continues on to explain that we will be ranked in training, to decide who gets what job at the end of it all, which makes sense. I can understand that. There is structure and organisation in that. It would do no good to allow someone that is useless to go into leadership. Only the best should run a faction, or else it shall descend into chaos. In Dauntless’ case, more chaos, I suppose, because Dauntless is made of chaos and noise and mess. Four is not. He is controlled and stern. Eric is not, either, no matter how he likes to try and look it. Everything about Eric is structured and controlled, from his slicked-back-short-on-the-sides hair to the bold, thick lines of his tattoos down his throat and on his forearms. He has even constructed his body to be the embodiment of Dauntless – big and strong and uncompromising. He is controlled.

“Rankings also decide who gets cut,” Eric suddenly tacks onto Four’s speech.

My fingers twitch at my sides and my lips pinch together. Cut? I was unaware they could toss initiates out. I sense the others shifting nervously around me. I can practically smell their uncertainty. I struggle to stay motionless and keep my mask in place. All this means is that I have to work harder to ensure I stay in the safe zone. I do not want to be factionless. I cannot go back to Candor. Candor is not and never will be an option for me – not again. Then again, neither is factionless an option. I refuse to live as the scum of society. If Dauntless is chaos, then life as a factionless is hell. I would rather die.

“Cut?” a girl to my left echoes, frowning. She is not happy. No one is.

Eric pushes himself up from the stone block he is leaning against and move closer to us. His arms swing down to his sides. “At the end of each stage of training, the lowest ranking initiates will be leaving us,” he elaborates and I tilt my head to the side curiously.

“How many?” I ask and his eyes gleam and focus on me. “How many initiates will actually become Dauntless?”

“Ten,” he answers bluntly and I nod thoughtfully. “You’ll be trained separately from the Dauntless born for the first stage and then you’ll all train together during the final stage.”

“So, the top ten transfers and the top ten Dauntless born will continue on to the next stage? After which, only the top ten of both transfers and Dauntless born will become Dauntless?” I question and Eric shakes his head, smirking. “Then how shall it be decided who gets cut?” I frown, frustrated, and his smirk grows.

“You’ll all be ranked together – you’ll see the board later,” he says dismissively. I want to protest. I want to ask more questions, because his answers are inadequate, but the warning, cold gleam in his eye tells me that it would be wise to shut my mouth. If I wanted to ask questions, I should have chosen Erudite.

“But, where will those that fail go?” a boy demands and I almost roll my eyes, but refrain. It is not his fault he is an idiot.

"Well, there’s no going home to your families, so you’d live factionless,” Eric drawls. He seems rather smug and pleased with himself.

“Why didn’t we know that?” someone else pipes up.

“It’s a new rule,” Eric shrugs. He does not mention that other factions’ initiation tends to be kept hush-hush, though stories do get out sometimes.

“A new rule?” the other Candor girl repeats. She does seem to like repeating things. “Someone should have told us that.”

“Why? Would you have chosen differently? Out of _fear_?” Eric spits the final word. His lips curl into a disdainful sneer and his eyes turn cold. “I mean, if that’s the case, you might as well just get out now,” he snaps. “If you’re really one of us, it shouldn’t matter that you might fail,” he says sternly. That makes sense, I suppose, but that does not mean we have to like it. “You chose us, now we get to choose you.”

I suppose that is fair, but the others around me do not seem to agree. They shift uncomfortably and look at each other uncertainly. Suddenly, everyone is an enemy. We are one another’s competition. I do not mind that. I have no interest in making friends. I have not any in a while, so I will not miss it. There is no point becoming friends with someone only to have them leave. Solitude is best. I edge away from the others slightly and my eyes narrow slightly on a boy that jostles me with his elbow. He grins back at me, unrepentant, and he is vaguely familiar. His eyes are cruel. I glare at him, before turning my gaze to Four and following our training instructor from the Pit. Eric stays behind. He probably has leadership duties to see to that do not include babysitting initiates.

The boy elbows me again as he strides past me. This time it is harder. I almost stumble, but catch my footing and my eyes lock onto the back of his head. I do not know how to retaliate. I do not know if I should. I merely file this incident away for future reference. I do not believe that I shall be his main focus. His eyes move too much to the slight girl from Abnegation for that. His elbowing of me was more than likely for my questioning and drawing attention to myself. That may have been foolish. My questioning could have been perceived as Candor defiance, rather than the simple need to understand how my life will be decided in this new place. It could cost me in the rankings if Eric or Four saw me as impertinent, but I did not question the system itself, as others did. I merely asked questions over how it would work.

Four does not lead us to a training room, as I expect, while my thoughts circle my head. Instead, he leads us to a rooftop where there are guns set up. He provides us with protective vests, shows us how the guns work, and leaves us to it. I am between the other Candor girl and the boy from the train platform. He offers me a friendly smile, but she just nods awkwardly, as most of Candor do. They know my past. They know my darkness. They know the truth that shackles me. I try to ignore that knowledge as I hold the surprisingly heavy gun in my hands and try to position myself like Four did. There is an order to do things in order to succeed. I simply have to discover it.

The rifle fits awkwardly in my arms, but I shift it until it feels marginally comfortable. I keep my finger away from the trigger for now and bring my face down to the sight. I keep both eyes open. My lips pinch together and I fire, but the recoil startles me and sends me back a little. My shoulder burns where the gun slammed into it and the noise is louder than I imagined it would be. The bullet has completely missed the target of the orange dummy. I imagine it hit the red brick wall behind it. I clear my thoughts of my failure and shift back into position and concentrate. I am prepared now. I know what to expect. I do not acknowledge the others around me. I do not let their failures or successes dictate my actions.

It takes six shots before I finally hit the target. The bullet sinks into the orange dummy through the shoulder to create a black hole. It is by no means a lethal shot, but I have hit the target and my body is adjusting to the weight of the gun and the recoil that has left a nasty bruise in my flesh. It is the first bruise of many, I am sure. I ignore the ache and reload the rifle. I had watched Four carefully during the explanation. I will not call him over for assistance like some of the others. I make my way over the table where the new magazines of ammunition lay. I discharge the empty magazine and neatly lay it on the table. The new one is picked up and it takes me a few tries, but I manage to slot it into place. I go back to my target, gun pointed at the ground, and lift the gun.

This time, my body smoothly slips back into position. It has regained the grace Mom had taught me. I take aim and draw in a breath. I exhale and squeeze the trigger. It all happens in a matter of seconds. I must get better after all, if I am to stay in this chaos rather than descending into hell. The use of a gun must become second nature to me. The weapon must become an extension of who I am. It must become a part of me, if I am to become Dauntless. I know this. I understand this. This is the new structure in my life. The ache in my shoulder, or the pain in my trigger finger, or the throb in my knee from being on one knee for so long do not matter. All that matters is the gun in my hands and the target in front of me. There is no one else. There is nothing else. Only the gun and the target.

I fire again and adjust as quickly as I can to the recoil of the gun. It takes precious moments, but I will learn and I will get better. I empty the magazine into the dummy. The bullets are all embedded in the torso, almost clustered in the same place, when I lower the gun to inspect it. My arms burn from the unfamiliar exertion, but I ignore them and go to reload once more. I slip the empty magazine out and push a new one in with less difficulty than the first time. As I go back to my place, I see the boy next to me playfully teasing the slight blonde girl on his other side. There is no malicious intent in his eyes. She just looks irritated at her lack of success. She has yet to hit her target. I notice her eyes flickering to my target and then to me. She is frustrated. It is understandable.

I choose not acknowledge any of them as push my aching body into position once more. My knee protests against the gravel digging in through the stiff fabric of my black pants, but none of that matters. My finger automatically curls around the trigger, but the flesh is red and sore from the unfamiliar activity. I straighten the finger as I focus on my target. I flex my right hand briefly and then bring it back to the gun and begin anew. No one else is stopping. I should not. I shall continue on until Four tells us to stop, which is not going to be for a long while. I lose track of time with the guns and the shots and the ache that settles over my body from the foreign exertion. Eventually, though, Four calls for us to stop. Gratefully, my body rises and my hands place the gun on the table he is stood by.

Once all the guns have been disarmed and put neatly in place, Four leads back downstairs and tells us to get rid of the jackets. Some frown at him, confused, but we all obey and he instructs us to leave them in the training room we walk through. The pieces of clothing are tossed over a pile of mats he gestures to and he looks amused when he tells us we are going for a run. I do cut him an icy look for that. I am not good at running. I fail to see how it is a vital part of life here at Dauntless, except for their hare-brained stunts. I have little choice, though. I tighten my ponytail, check my boots are properly laced, and smooth my slightly wrinkled t-shirt down over my torso.

Instead running through the compound, as I had expected after stern instructions that we were not allowed to leave the compound unattended, we are led outside. The sun feels nice on my skin. I like laying in the sunshine sometimes, on the hot roof of my parents’ house. The stone would almost burn me through my clothes, but it was peaceful. This run is going to be anything but peaceful. My lips pinch together, but I push my already aching body into the stretches Four shows us. He talks us through them in a sharp, brisk voice that you have to listen to. There is no ignoring that tone. It is the voice of a general. I watch him as he stretches, mimicking his movements. My body protests and wants respite, but Dauntless will offer no such thing. Dauntless will push me to my limits and then shove me further.

The run begins at a sedate jog, but Four gradually increases his speed. I stick near the middle of the group, on the edge, to prevent him from barking at me to hurry up like he is to a girl named Myra. She is floundering at the back of the group. I have no sympathy. I am merely glad that is not me. I never claimed to be a good person. I do not spare her more than a glance that simply confirms who this ‘Myra’ is. She looks as though she is close to tears. I shake my head slightly and feel my hair stick to the sweat at the back of my neck. I know that I, too, am inelegant in running, but I keep a steady pace and am careful not to bump anyone with my elbows. My cheeks are red and flushed. My entire body shines with perspiration and I wish that I’d had the opportunity to change my shoes for sneakers and my pants for a lighter, softer pair. I feel as though I am burning.

We come to a stop when some Dauntless hail Four. I am grateful. I take in some deep breaths and my eyes find a group of factionless. They must be what the Dauntless speaking to Four are monitoring. They are on the very edges of the factionless sector after all. I do not like looking at them. They are dirty and thin and their eyes are full of anger. There is one old man that is staring at us. He stands away from the factionless behind him – closer to the barrier. I watch him warily. His angry eyes find my gaze. I shudder and look away from him. My skin crawls. I have no wish to have any contact with them. My hands adjust my hair and clothes, just to have something to do while we wait for Four. I am still breathing too quickly, but I am getting it under control. I just wish I could stop throwing sidelong glances at the factionless man. He is watching me now and there is a smile on his face that reveals his rotten, broken teeth.

“Keep up!” Four barks and we are running again.

We run right past the barrier and I carefully position myself furthest from it. I wish to distance myself from them as much as possible. I do not look at the old man. I cannot. The stench of the unwashed reaches me on the wind. I shake my head slightly. It will not do to dwell on the uncertainties. Comfort can only be found in the certain – in the truth. That is what I have been told. That is what I have been taught. I do not know if I can continue with that practice. I left because I could not, yet I am still searching for the truth in things. There is no way to turn that part of me off, but perhaps it shall lessen with time. I am not content with the uncertain possibilities in the future. I prefer the structure of the known. It is what I am used to. The factionless have none of that. I cannot live factionless. I will not.

 

* * *

 

By the time we get back to the compound, it is time for lunch. Everyone is glad of that. Very few ate breakfast that morning and I am not one of them. I grab a few sandwiches and a drink in passing and eat and drink on the way back to the dorm to change. Sweat sticks my t-shirt to my body and I smell. It is not pleasant. My nose wrinkles slightly. It would be best if I could shower, but I very much doubt I have time for a full shower and, besides, it would be pointless if we are to continue training this afternoon. I step into the dormitory and swiftly check for any others, but it is empty. I gather some clean clothes and move into the bathroom. As I walk, I pull my hair into a bun to keep it off of my sweaty flesh whilst I wash.

With a final check, I strip down to my underwear. I fold my dirty clothes and place them in the corner to be washed. A washcloth is taken from the cupboard and dampened with cold water. The sweat is swiftly sluiced away, as best it can be at any rate, and I pat myself dry with a towel. Cleaner than I was, I dress and retie my hair into a ponytail. The headband is pushed into place and I inspect myself in the mirror. My dark hair is smooth and neat. My clothes look presentable, though they cling to my body tighter than I am used to. Even the dress from the Choosing Ceremony was not as tight as the tank top I am currently wearing. I have chosen a pair of pants in a lighter, more breathable fabric than the pair I was wearing earlier. I move easier in them too. I lace my boots back on, though, upon the realisation that I have no sneakers to change into. Perhaps there is somewhere to buy some.

It is time to return to training by the time I am done. Four is waiting in the training room we passed through to go running. I am not the last to arrive, but nor am I the first. The slight girl from Abnegation is there with what I assume are her friends. They are all smiling and talking as though they are friends. I keep to the edge of the room and look over the wide open space. There are punching bags lined up. There are some mats where are our jackets are still resting, waiting to be collected. There is a slightly raised mat too that I think is a fighting ring. No doubt, when we are proficient enough, we will have to fight each other. I am not entirely sure how I feel about that. I have never hit anyone before. Candor prefer to exchange verbal blows, rather than physical ones, and I did not even participate in that.

Four extracts me from my musings by instructing us to partner up. I end up with a brutish girl that I think comes from Candor. She glowers at me. I choose to ignore her. She is much larger than I am, though. She is twice my width and a half a head taller than me and I am by no means as tiny as the Abnegation girl. There is little to no femininity in her whatsoever. She looks masculine and harsh. Her hands are twice the size of mine and her feet look too big, even for her large frame. When she walks, it is with plodding, lumbering steps. Her hair is even cut brutally short to her chin in straight, sharp lines that do nothing for her face. The scowl she seems to wear consistently does not help either. If I were still in Candor, I would be expected to point these observations out, but, in Dauntless, I can keep the cruelty of the truth to myself.

“Justice, come here,” Four suddenly commands. I move towards him with a suspicious glance thrown his way, but he faces me and raises his arms. “Copy my stance,” he orders. I observe the way he stands for a moment. His feet are shoulder width apart, but with the right in front of the left. He has one arm covering his face and the other blocking his stomach. I move my feet into position carefully, adjusting my weight until it feels comfortable, and then raise my arms in an imitation of his. “This arm slightly lower,” he says and pulls my arm a little lower across my stomach. “Good,” he nods after a moment. “Now, I want you to bring your right forearm up when I move, understood?”

I am not wholly sure what is going on, but I nod. His arm moves towards mine, so I obey him and bring my right forearm up to block the blow. His left arm moves and he orders me to block it with my left. I do. It feels clumsy and disjointed and the hits smart, but he keeps barking out instructions and I obey. There is no other choice unless I want to be hit in the face or torso. When I have grasped the basics, he sends me back over to the masculine girl, whom he calls ‘Molly’. At least I know one name now, though I fail to see the importance of it. She glares at me with a lip curl. I ignore the expression and lift my arms into the position Four had shown us. She mimics me, but her blows are full of the intent to harm as our arms collide. My flesh is sure to bruise, but I make sure I do not let the pain blossom on my face.

As our arms bump together, I notice that I am faster than her. She is clumsy and graceless and she knows it too. I can see that she does in the ugly scowl on her face and the way her thick lips twist into fouler and fouler sneers. Her brown eyes darken and she ends up smacking me so hard across the wrist I recoil. A triumphant smirk distorts her face even more as I shake my hand and inspect the appendage. A bruise is already forming, but it is not swelling. I give my hand a final shake and move back into position. She tries again, but I move my arm and step back. The swing goes wide and she almost falls. Her eyes blaze and her lips pull back over her teeth. She looks like an enraged bull, especially with the way her nostrils flare. Her skin is going blotchy. It is not a good look for her. I choose not to tell her.

“Keep moving!” Four barks at us. We obey. We would be foolish not to do so. Molly deliberately hits too hard, though, and my arms will be black and blue before the afternoon is out. “You need to remember that the elbows are the most powerful part of your body,” Four announces as he strides around the room, hands folded behind his back. “Strike hard and strike fast to the vulnerable points – who knows what they are?”

“Groin!” a girl cries with a giggle. A low rumble of laughter goes through the group until Four glares.

“Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin, and throat,” I recite calmly. The laughter silences. “Ribs also, I suppose, and the backs of the knees.”

“Good, Justice,” Four nods. I just keep hitting my forearms against Molly’s. “Keep your cores tight,” he orders us. We obey. We are only meant to obey, after all.

Molly is deliberately trying to break my arms, I am sure of it. I narrow my eyes on her slightly and deflect another blow. This one really stings because it smacks straight against a vivid purple bruise. The mark is ringed with red and is mildly swollen. It hurts. I choose not to show that. Molly would be entirely too triumphant if I did. I will not allow that. Perhaps I am too prideful. I am prideful enough to swing back with as much force as I am able. I am glad to see her flinch and pause to shake her arm. My face stays blank, but, inside, I feel an odd flicker of triumph that feels strange and foreign inside of me. I meet her arm once more, twisting into the next position smoothly, and I keep my core tight, just like Four told us to.

“First jumper!” a deep, harsh voice suddenly barks. The initiates turn as one to find Eric stood beside Four, glaring out at us. “In the ring,” he orders. The slight Abnegation girl moves forwards with a perturbed look on her face. She looks at her friends with uncertain, wide eyes, but steps into the ring. Eric eyes the rest of us and lands on Molly in front of me. “Last jumper,” he decides. Molly galumphs into the ring opposite the first jumper. She looks huge compared the small blonde. She will crush her. “Time to fight,” Eric announces.

Out of curiosity, I move closer as Molly’s mouth opens and she speaks for the first time in my hearing. “How long for?” she demands. Even her voice is deep and harsh, like a man’s.

“Until one of you can’t anymore,” Eric shrugs and lays his hands on the edge of the ring. He has large hands.

“Or one of you concedes,” Four interjects, but Eric rolls his eyes and sighs.

“According to the old rules,” he replies, as though Four is mentally deficient. “According to the new rules, no one concedes.”

“A brave man recognises the strength in others,” Four snaps back, but his voice is hushed and I think I am the only one close enough to catch the words.

“A brave man never gives up,” Eric shoots right back, smug, as the girls remove their shoes.

“Luckily for you, those weren’t the rules when we fought,” Four retorts. The smugness fades from Eric’s face and he turns back to the girls in the ring.

“You’ll be scored on this, so fight hard,” he all but snarls. He is cold and angry. Like an icy flame. His eyes, however, blaze. It is a strange contrast and I find myself staring at him. Molly and her opponent, though, stand awkwardly in the ring and their arms hang loose at their sides. “Go!” Eric snaps with an impatient wave of a large hand.

At movement from the ring, my attention is brought back to the two fighters. They are circling each other, but the smaller girl goes too far and leaves the ring. She bumps into me. Her wide eyes meet mine. She is not afraid, just uncertain. I commend her for that. I take a small step back and she gets back into the ring. There is a determined set to her mouth now. She lifts her arms into the position Four showed us. Molly shows no mercy. Her meaty fist slams into the side of the small girl’s face. The girl staggers, one hand flying to her face, the other scrabbling to keep her upright, and I – I do not like this. It makes my stomach twist and something hot fizz through my veins. I do not like it. I do not like the greedy, primal gleam in Molly’s eyes. I do not like the way she taunts the small girl. I do not like how this feels like cowardice.

It takes mere minutes for the blonde girl to be knocked out cold. I watch as her friends rush to help her. I watch her stir back to consciousness as a large boy with blonde hair lifts her from the ring. I watch an ugly smirk of triumph curl Molly’s lips. A shudder of revulsion rolls down my spine. She is proud of herself. She is proud that she beat a girl half her size into unconsciousness. I look to our trainers. Four looks stony. Eric just looks bored. He casts his eyes around the group again. More than likely, he is looking for someone that can last for more than a few minutes against the beast. If he wants that, he should pick one of the boys, probably the large boy that lifted the girl. The girls are too slight and untrained to win against Molly’s sheer bulk, but the boys might be hesitant in hitting a girl, despite how masculine she is.

“Second jumper,” Eric calls lazily. It takes a moment to realise that the others have moved further back from me and that he means me. I am the second jumper. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” he insists and I reluctantly move forwards.

I perch on the edge of the ring and remove my boots. The socks are neatly stuffed inside and, in comparison to Molly’s carelessly tossed shoes, I neatly set them beside the ring. She sighs impatiently behind me, but I ignore her as I stand and adjust my hair. As I do, I settle into position. My arms burn from all of this activity and the bruises she has already laid on my skin. She will stain my flesh more before the day is over. I will stain hers too. I will not be her victim. I will be forged in the flames of Dauntless – stronger than steel. If she wins, it will not be because I could not fight back. I must remember that my elbows are my strongest weapon at the moment. I must use my speed and grace against her clumsy lumbering. She is slow and ungainly. My mother taught me how to be poised and graceful since the day I could walk. Even now, I am precariously settled on my tiptoes.

“Feet flat on the floor, Justice,” Four tells me.

Uncomfortably, my bare feet flatten against the mat, just in time for me to twist out of the way of Molly’s clumsy charge. She barrels past me and almost falls out of the ring. A few people snigger as she catches herself on the edge of the podium. Her eyes blaze and narrow on me. Once again, she charges like an enraged, half-witted bull. Once again, I neatly side step her and watch her go tumbling out of the ring. My head tilts slightly as I step back and wait for her to re-enter the ring. She, at least, did allow her other opponent that. I wait as she inelegantly clambers into the ring, all limbs and heavy thuds. It is not pleasant in the slightest. I duck beneath another punch and, this time, retaliate. My elbow slams into her sternum and she doubles over, gasping for breath. Her fist swings for me, but I step back out of reach and, belatedly, realise that I have raised onto tiptoes again. It eases the height difference.

“Stay still, coward!” Molly spits.

“No,” I reply simply. “You are slow, clumsy, and tire easily,” I state calmly. Her teeth grind together audibly at the observation. “You will also have dangerously high blood pressure if you continue to get unnecessarily angry,” I point out. I believe it is helpful, but the anger that rages in her eyes says otherwise. She turns blotchy again. It really does look terrible. “You also go horribly blotchy when angry,” I inform her. “It is not pleasant to look at.”

“I – am – going – to – _kill_ – you,” she grits out through her grinding teeth. Her nostrils are flared and she is breathing deeply through her nose.

“I hear yoga is particularly calming,” I say seriously. It might be good for everyone if she managed to control her temper. She screams and throws herself at me.

This time, I barely step out of the way and manage to bring my elbow up into her sternum. Her hand wraps into my hair and pulls. I cannot stop a small cry of pain that I hastily stifle by slamming my teeth into the inside of my cheek. She is behind me. I can get her with my elbow again. Her fists, however, rain down into my ribcage furiously and leave me wanting to double over. Blindly, I throw a foot back and catch her in a thick thigh. She does not even twitch. I lift my foot higher and kick harder. It catches her between the legs. She may not be male (apparently – after being walloped by her, I am not entirely certain), but being kicked in the groin still hurts for a female. She groans and her hand loosens enough in my hair for to me to twist free, bringing my elbow back into her nose.

With a yell, Molly hits the mat and cups her broken nose. I stand over her, breathing quickly, and keep myself in position for when she rises. She does not, though. She lays there, groaning and trying to stem the flow of blood. I glance uncertainly at our trainers to find Eric with his head bowed, shoulders shaking, and his hands flat against the side of the ring. Is he…laughing? Our fight was amusing? A glance at Four tells me that he, too, is struggling not to laugh. He hides it better than Eric. His lips are twitching, but that is all. The other initiates are openly laughing, apart from two, whom I assume to be Molly’s friends. I do not know how to proceed.

“She wins,” Eric states eventually, amusement clear. He jabs a finger at me. “Blotchy,” he sniggers and shakes his head. “Not bad, princess.”

Princess? It sounds like an insult. I do not like it. I stay silent and retreat from the ring when he beckons me to. Molly’s friends haul her from the ring with some difficulty. I choose to ignore the hateful glares they send my way. Instead, I perch on the edge of the now blood soaked ring to pull my socks and boots back on. The boots are tightly and neatly laced. I feel eyes on me as I work. I ignore them. There is noise around me and a few initiates congratulate me on my win. I nod awkwardly in acknowledgement and say quiet thanks. I stand and adjust my headband, which became loose in my fight with Molly. I am vaguely aware of someone stood to my right. They are close, but not close enough to touch. If I do not acknowledge them, perhaps they will not talk to me.

“What’s your name again?” a deep, demanding voice asks.

My head turns and my eyes meet Eric’s. He is stood closer than I am comfortable. “Justice Stephenson,” I answer quietly. He nods and walks away. I am glad. I prefer to be alone, but it seems solitude is not an option as the slight girl and her friends crush around me. She offers me a small smile and a quiet word of ‘well done’ on my win. “Thank you,” I respond to her and we nod in quiet acceptance of one another.

We end up partnered together for the rest of the afternoon. Others fight in the ring, but the slight girl, whose name I discover is Tris, and I decide to continue to train. Her friends do too after a little while. You can only watch so much blood fly. There is nothing controlled in the fights we witness between the other initiates. It is messy and sloppy, because we have not had the training yet. The only one that holds himself with any skill is a tall, lean boy with shaggy blonde hair. I think Four calls him Edward. I wonder where he learned to fight, but I am not curious enough to ask. I do not need to, in the end. The Erudite boy from the platform tells us that Edward has studied ways of fighting since he was ten, simply because he was bored. That does not sound wholly normal, but I am no expert on normal.

“Initiates! This way!” Eric calls sharply. We gravitate towards his voice. I think it would be impossible not to with how powerful it is. He is stood beside a large board that looks glass, but has lines through it to make rectangular boxes. In the boxes are little numbers. “Know what this board is? It’s your life,” he states sharply as we all crane to get a look. I am small. I manage to ease myself to the front for a better view. “We grade you every day,” he tells us. “If you’re still in the red by the end of the first stage, you are out.”

  
Names filter onto the board. I should surely be ranked higher than Molly and her original opponent, but I will not be ranked higher than the boys that have fought today, nor the Dauntless born. I won through my ability to be fast on my feet, not through any power or real talent. Still, I should be above the red line. I have won my fight. I have hit the targets in gun training. I have kept up with running. Even if I am below the red line, this is simply the first day. I can fight harder and train harder to move higher on the board. I should not be worried. Not yet. I nod slightly to myself and rake my eyes over the names to find my own. There – in the fourteenth slot – is my name. I am above Tris and her friends. I am above Molly. I am above the red line. I am safe.

 

* * *

 

My body aches – my arms especially. They are covered in vivid purple bruises that are circled with red and are tender to the touch. I ice them during the night when everyone else is asleep and it helps, but I think scrubbing the bathroom clean with the sparse cleaning supplies provided just agitated them. At least I can go into the bathroom without suppressing the urge to vomit now. It took a good few hours, which means I only had about four hours sleep, but it is worth it. I stifle a yawn, roll my aching shoulders, and pop the last of my breakfast muffin into my mouth as I enter the training room where Four is waiting. Once again, we are taken to the roof where we spend the morning shooting.

Over the course of the morning, I find that I am enjoying myself. There is something exhilarating having something so powerful under my control. I am by no means the best – Edward and a boy I think is named Peter take that accolade – but I am definitely not the worst. My hands are still working on how the gun works, but they are getting quicker with every reload. My trigger finger throbs in protest, but is beginning to simply obey. The flesh is still red and inflamed, but is no longer swollen. It just needs to form callouses to tough the skin and, soon, there shall be no discomfort whatsoever. That is why they are training us day in and day out, after all, so that we are formed into the perfect Dauntless soldiers. I understand that. I can accept that.

In the afternoon, it is fighting. This time, we are set up in front of punching bags to work on punches and kicks. We are all barefoot. Four keeps reprimanding me for raising myself up onto tiptoes. Apparently, it will cause me to lose balance, especially when we move onto kicks. It is a struggle to keep my feet flat on the dirty floor. The grit digs into the delicate soles of my feet and stains the soles a dark black. It makes me want to shudder. My toes wiggle against the cold floor and my feet arch slightly, before I firmly flatten them against the ground and throw a punch into the bag in front of me. It barely even swings. My lips press into a disapproving line and a slight frown creases my brow. I shall have to work on the muscles in my arms in order to throw a punch with any power behind it.

When Eric arrives, he calls seemingly random pairs up to fight. I continue to work with the punching bag, only pausing to wrap my knuckles when they split and bleed. They leave smears on the orange leather of the bag. I wipe them off with my jacket and continue. Pain lances through my hands with every punch and my legs throb when I lift them in kicks. The muscles I am using are unused to the activity. They must strengthen and toughen to be used as they are meant to. Sweat forms just about everywhere and sticks my clothes and hair to my skin. The headband over my skull feels as though it has gotten tighter and is constricting my very thought process. Reluctantly, I remove it and place it with my boots. My hair is long enough that it is all smoothed back into my ponytail.

“Justice and Will! In the ring!” Eric suddenly barks. I look up from the punching bag to see one of the Abnegation girl’s friends stepping into the ring. He wears a hesitant expression, but flashes me a nervous smile. “Now!” Eric snaps at me when I do not immediately move. I obey him slowly and take the time to wind my long hair up into a bun rather than a ponytail. It will prevent a hair pulling incident like yesterday. “Now is the not the time to sort your hair out, princess,” Eric scowls.

“I would prefer it if he did not pull my hair,” I respond calmly. “I am taking necessary preventative measures.”

“Necessary preventative measures?” Eric echoes and I nod as I step into the ring. “Necessary preventative measures would be cutting it all off.”

“I would rather not,” I reply simply and settle into position. I force my feet to stay flat on the ground. “I like my hair the way it is.”

“Just get on with it,” Eric sighs.

Will stands there, clearly hesitant to hit a girl, and I rush in to take the advantage. He blinks and then gasps as my elbow slams into his abdomen and my fist follows up to crash into the side of his head. He staggers sideways, blood spraying from his split lip. I can hear his friends cheering encouragingly for him. I try not to feel a little cold that there is no one encouraging me. I am used to being alone. No one has offered me support in years. That thought is quite forcefully shoved from my mind when Will startles me with punch that catches me on the side of the jaw. My head snaps to the side and blood gushes into my mouth from a split in either my gum or the inside of my cheek. As of right now, it is unimportant. I have to concentrate.

My eyes narrow and Will hesitates again. He cannot stand making a girl bleed. I can use that. I duck into his guard and throw my elbow into his throat. A spluttered choke comes from him, but I refuse to give him time to recover. I grab the back of his collar and wrench him from his feet. He flails, struggling to stay on his feet, but I kick him in the back of the knees and get him on his front. My knee pins him down, pushing against his spine between his shoulder blades, and I grab both his wrists before he can attempt to hit me. His legs kick, until I bend his wrist back forcefully and he chokes on a shout of pain. I twist his arm up his back and bend his wrist back a little more. He struggles, but I push my weight heavier against him. If it were one of the stronger boys, this would not work, but Will is lean and lithe and cannot quite get the angle or strength to heave me off of him.

From the corner of my eye, I see his foot flying upwards. I barely roll out of the way in time to avoid a kick to the face. He leaps upwards at the same time that I do, but I move forwards in the same movement and slam my shoulder into his chest to knock him off balance. My fist crashes into his face and he staggers back, head snapping backwards. Blood gushes from his nose and from his mouth. He falls to one knee, choking on the blood in his mouth, and I do not hesitate. Some would, but I do not. I bring my fist down again and knock him onto the mat. His body trembles slightly and his eyes (green, I notice) stare at me with shock and wariness. I kick him in the temple and watch him crumple with his eyes rolling back into his skull. I straighten, wipe the blood from my split lip with the tip of a finger, and look over at the smirking Eric.

“Winner – Justice,” he announces, sounding somewhat smug. I hop down from the ring beside him and flex my throbbing knuckles. “No insults today?” he asks and I look at him from the corner of my eye.

  
“I did not find them necessary,” I respond as calmly as possible with how quickly I am breathing. “Molly insulted me first,” I point out and adjust my hair. “Will did not.”

“You’re weird,” Eric decides. I choose to ignore the insult and head back to the punching bags. “I didn’t say you were done, princess,” he snaps and I stop obediently, but do not face him. “Get your ass back in that ring,” he all but snarls. I turn my head to look at him, before I obediently push myself back into the ring and tighten my hair as he sweeps his eyes over my fellow initiates. No doubt he wants to make me suffer for walking away from him. “Edward,” he smirks and my heart plummets, though I do not show it.

“Eric, she just won –”

“She stays in that ring until she’s on the fucking floor,” Eric interrupts Four’s protest with a snarl and flattens his large hands against the edge of the ring Edward is climbing into.

I hope no one notices how I gulp and my fingers tremble slightly. I stand no chance against Edward. He knows it too. It shows in the cocky smirk on his face. My eyes narrow at the sight. My defeat may be inevitable, but that does not mean I am going to hit the ground without a fight. I go through the holds, kicks, and manoeuvres that Four had shown us earlier in my head. My body strains to rise onto its toes, just to feel a little more comfortable, but I force myself to stay flat on the ground and watch Edward carefully. He lazily hops from foot to foot and rolls his head on his neck. Perhaps I should make the first move.

Before the thought has properly solidified in my mind, I am pushing myself forwards and throwing my elbow towards his throat. He dodges as though I am a clumsy, inept child and punches me in the ribs. The hit is hard, fast, and leaves me gasping for air as I stumble back and almost trip over my own feet. Another blow comes towards my face and I hastily dodge to the side. I barely avoid the fist that would surely break my nose and aim a kick to his side that is sloppy in comparison to him. I miss. I retreat swiftly when he easily dodges and raises a mocking eyebrow at me. Something that feels suspiciously like anger flickers in the pit of my stomach. I have not felt any extremes of emotion in years. They leave me feeling out of control and unrestrained. I do not like that feeling. I push the anger down and force myself not to make the first move again.

Edward rushes closer abruptly and I do not swing myself out of the way in time. His fist smacks into the side of my face and the split obtained from my spar with Will splits open. Another bursts along my gum and the blood is metallic and thick on my tongue. A disgusting thought trickles into my mind and I act on it before I can quite stop myself. I spit a mouthful of blood and saliva right into his face and he reels back with a startled yell. I take advantage of his shock and disgust and punch him as hard as I possibly can in the face. His head snaps backwards, but he drags his knee up and into my sternum. The breath rushes out of me on a harsh cough and my body doubles over. He hits me in the side of the head and I slam into the mat, dizzy. I attempt to rise again, more out of pride than any true competitiveness, but Edward kicks me in the head and my body crumples as black swamps me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the unhealthy coping mechanisms and slightly dubious consent comes in, just to warn you guys and, as the tag says, the romance is a bit rushed.
> 
> Enjoy!

Purple, blue, and black stain my skin. The worst is the one across my cheekbone and around my right eye, which is also slightly swollen and bloodshot. My bottom lip is split open through the middle and the upper is split in the left side. I am a sight. I look absolutely terrible. My entire body throbs in protest with each movement that I make. The pain is almost enough to make me simply lay down for the day, but I push myself through the morning’s training with guns and rest during my lunch break after a little food. Eric has been with us all day. His eyes burn into my skin constantly. Should he not be watching others also? Instead, his eyes seem to be on me at all times. Perhaps it is just my imagination. Perhaps I am being paranoid. I hope I am. I do not think that his attention is a good thing.

Pain tugs at me as I enter the training area and sip on a bottle of water. There, stood beside the ring, is Eric with Four and his eyes immediately lock onto me. I struggle to ignore it as I smooth my hair into its bun and pin it firmly in place. My ribs throb at the movement, but I determinedly ignore it and pretend that I am not in a considerable amount of agony. I smooth my vest top over my torso and adjust my sports bra’s strap across my back. I think I might need to get a new one. My cropped leggings are a little tight too, but only over my thighs. The clothes show off the majority of my bruises. The top I am wearing has gaping armholes that show off my sides and only has a small strap going down the middle of my shoulder blades. It reveals my back and ribs, but it is easy to move in.

“Nice outfit, princess,” a rough voice whispers far too close to my ear. I react in the way Dauntless has taught me to. I twist, raise a fist, and punch, but a hand wraps around my wrist and the world spins. It takes me a moment to realise that it is _me_ and not the world that is spinning. My back slams against a chest and my arm is crossed across my chest. Another hand curls around my throat and my head is forced back beneath a chin to ensure that I continue to breathe. I struggle and attempt to kick my way free, but the hand around my throat _squeezes_ and I stop obediently. I am not foolish. “Still need some work, don’t we, princess?” that voice practically croons and hot breath curls its way over my jaw.

“Let me go,” I bite out through gritted teeth. Pain throbs through my ribs and radiates across my back. I throw an elbow back into a hard chest, but the person holding me only gives a small grunt and then presses closer. His fingers tighten against my throat and I gasp and tilt my head back a little further, until I see the underside of the man’s stubbly jaw. I see tattoos and I know who it is. “Eric,” I acknowledge without meaning to and he _chuckles_.

“Took you long enough, princess,” he murmurs and I attempt to shift, to find some sort of leverage, but there is none. He is like a steel cage and he is completely wrapped around me. His arms are wrapped around me in the mocking imitation of an embrace and his solid frame is pressed against my back. The closeness sends prickles rocketing through me and a shudder shoots down my spine. I bring my elbow back again, anything to get him to loosen his grip, but it only serves to make his fingers clench until breathing is difficult, no matter how far back my head is tilted. “I could break your pretty neck,” he says smoothly, voice low and meant for my ears only, and I frown sharply.

“Let go,” I repeat and slam my foot into his, but I only serve to hurt myself. He is wearing boots that no doubt have a steel toecap, whilst I am wearing easy to move in sneakers. I frown a little deeper and wriggle in an attempt to free myself from his grasp. It makes him tighten his grip and press me even closer to his body. I hate it. “This is inappropriate,” I insist and he chuckles again. His body vibrates against my back with the noise and I give another shudder. “ _Let me go_.”

“Aw, what’s the matter, princess?” he taunts and I struggle to get the leverage to elbow him again, but he does not allow me that leverage. “Getting claustrophobic?” he mocks. I twist my head to glare at him, but I only manage to glower at the side of his neck and jaw.

“No,” I retort. I would not have such a foolish fear. I used to hide in the smallest places when I was playing Hide-and-Seek as a child. “I merely find your close proximity uncomfortable,” I retort in the most composed voice that I can. I sound oddly tight and strained. I do not like it. “And inappropriate.”

“I’m teaching you,” Eric lies. I know he is lying. I can feel the subtle shift of his muscles and hear the slight inflection in his tone.

“Liar,” I accuse immediately. Candor has dug its claws in so deep and will never let go. I was meant for them, after all. “You are doing this because you derive some sort of sick pleasure from being an asshole,” I challenge and hope that it will be enough to make him let me go.

It does not.

For a second, I believe it does, as his fingers uncurl from around my wrist and throat and then, in a split second, he twists me in his arms and my chest is flat against his. His hand coils around my throat once more and I am certain that he can feel my pulse pounding beneath his calloused fingertips. He forces my head back until my neck hurts and his eyes bore into mine. I did not notice their colour before. I believed them to be dark, to match his personality, but they are not. They are pale and an odd mixture of blue and grey and darken towards the pupil, which is ringed in a darker blue that still is not completely dark. They do not belong on a man like him. He should have dark eyes that show the darkness within his soul. He should not have eyes that remind me of the sky on a cloudy day. He should not have pretty eyes.

“Did you just call me an asshole, princess?” Eric almost grins, as though he is amused at my bluntness, and I glare up at him.

“Did you miss that in your posturing?” I retort. Anger is infecting me. I cannot control myself. I want it to stop. I do not like it.

His hand flexes and I gasp, fingers clawing at his wrist. “Posturing? Oh, princess, you really need to learn when to shut that pretty little mouth of yours,” he whispers. His pupils are dilated and his breath is hot and marginally faster than usual as it puffs against my face.

“That is the second time you have called me pretty,” I point out mildly. His eyes flash and his lips stretch into a wider, more predatory grin that reveals his straight, white teeth. He is unfairly handsome. “Is that what you see? A pretty doll to be broken?” I ask, keeping my voice as low as his when the other initiates enter and their eyes fall on us.

“You’re hardly a _doll_ , princess,” Eric retorts and his fingers soften until they are almost a caress against my throat. I attempt to retreat, but his arm bands around my waist and flattens me against his chest. His hand tightens around my throat and I am left taking in short, shallow breaths. “But, I do like watching those cracks appear,” he admits and his thumb strokes up the length of my neck. It is wrong. It is tender and almost seductive in comparison to the dangerous grip he has on my throat. “You’re so controlled, princess,” he whispers, eyes locked on mine, and his hand splays across my waist. Two fingers and a thumb touch my bare skin. I jolt at the contact and squirm. “And I want to see you _shatter_.”

“Eric!” Four barks and I feel the man tense against me. His grin fades and his eyes slowly move from mine to Four. I can sense my trainer stood behind us at a respectful distance. “It’s time to start training,” Four states sharply. “Let her go.”

“I _am_ training her,” Eric snaps impatiently. I glare at him. He is a _liar_. “She has to get free all on her own,” he smirks and looks down at me. “Don’t you, princess?”

“I have attempted to and failed,” I shoot back and squirm again. His hand flexes on my waist and he drags me even closer. His breath quickens and there is something prodding me in my lower abdomen. I frown and attempt to step back, but he does not allow me to. “Release me immediately,” I insist and shove at the steel muscle of his chest.

“No,” he grins again and I, perhaps foolishly, attempt to kick him in the shin, but he absorbs the blow and crushes my small foot beneath his gigantic one. “Wrong,” he breathes. I frown and try to yank my foot free from beneath his, but am unable. It hurts.

“Go for the nut shot!” someone shouts and Eric’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing. “Or not, you know, if you want to live to see tomorrow.”

“Eric, let her go,” Four insists. “They haven’t learned how to escape from holds yet and you’re not even giving her a chance.”

“She’s one of our best initiates,” Eric shrugs and lets me ease my foot out from beneath his. I kick him again, just because he is irritating. “I’m _helping_ her.”

“You’re trying to scare her,” Four corrects through clenched teeth. “And it’s not working, so let her go.”

“She can work it out,” Eric shrugs. I feel his whole body move against mine with that simple movement. I do not like it. “Come on, princess, how are you getting your way out of this one? Can’t talk your way out of it and you’re clearly not strong enough to escape,” he taunts and his nose brushes against mine. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Surprise you,” I reply unthinkingly and his eyebrows raise.

“And how are _you_ going to surprise _me_?” Eric smirks and I grab the collar of his jacket and wrench him down.

Clumsily, my mouth collides with his and I feel him stiffen against me. The hand around my throat tightens briefly and then falls slack. It gives me the opportunity to yank back and out of his grip. I turn my back on him quickly and straighten my clothes. Everyone in the room is staring at me as though I am some strange, foreign body that they do not know. _I_ do not know me. _I_ do not know why I did what I did. My cheeks feel a little hot and my hands tremble slightly as I adjust my top. I keep my eyes ahead of me and my expression blank, just like always.

He grabs the back of my neck. I barely have time to gasp before he has my front crushed against the ground and his knee between my shoulder blades. I struggle to push myself up, but his weight pins me down far too effectively. I throw my elbow back, but he slams my wrist down beside my head and I yelp slightly. It hurts and it will leave a mark. I use my other elbow and catch him in the ribs. It makes his grip loosen enough for me to twist onto my back. My hands slam into his broad shoulders, but he just lets out a harsh laugh and grabs my wrists and pins them either side of my head. I kick up and he pins my knees between his. He is heavy and obstructive and leaves me unable to breathe. I attempt to draw my knees up and push him off, but it does not work. I try to dislodge him using my hips, but that only serves to make him push his hips into mine.

“Do _not_ do that again,” Eric advises in a slightly hoarse voice. “Not unless you want me to rip those clothes off and _fuck_ you right here,” he whispers harshly. There is a hardness grinding against me. I know what it is, especially after his threat. I do not want it. I struggle to push myself away from it, but he refuses to allow that to happen and presses deeper into me. “Try again, princess.”

“I do not want to play your ridiculous games,” I snap angrily. I try to yank a wrist free, but he easily keeps it in place. “You are nothing more than a bully that likes to assert his dominance by making everyone else feel small and insignificant,” I blurt out before I can stop the words from leaving my mouth. “Congratulations, Eric, you have proven that you are the biggest asshole in the room,” I spit and my eyes slam closed and my head twists to the side when his fist raises.

“ _ERIC_!”

A breeze rushes over my cheek and I hear a crack and a thud. Slowly, my eyes crack open to find his fist against the ground beside me. The knuckles are bleeding. His breath his hot and fast against the side of my face. I am breathing faster also. I am afraid. I have pushed him too far. I tremble slightly. I watch in tense silence as he slowly lifts his fist and uncurls his fingers from his palm. He grabs my face and, despite how I fight it, turns it until I am staring up at him. His fingertips bite into my jaw painfully and are sure to leave more bruises. His eyes are no longer light. They are dark with anger. They burn with it. There is a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. He could snap my jaw with one twist of his wrist. He could break my neck. He could choke the life out of me. It would be easy.

“Eric, let her go,” Four snaps above us. He sounds angry too. “That’s _enough_ ,” he insists and I shudder when Eric’s hand softens and his fingers trail deceptively gently down the column of my throat. His eyes stay locked on mine.

“I don’t _have_ to prove that anyone’s insignificant, princess,” Eric hisses in my ear. His cheek presses against mine and his stubble rasps over my skin. “You _are_ insignificant and you’d better remember that,” he spits and shoves himself up.

He leaves me laying on the ground as he storms from the training area, barking at the others to get out of his way. I push myself a little shakily and cough slightly. My fingers go to my throat and I know there are new bruises forming there too. Four moves towards me, but I shove his hands away and stand without assistance, despite the shakiness to my knees. He is frowning at me disapprovingly. He does not think I should have escalated things the way that I did in kissing Eric. I glare at him. He was not the one being targeted. He was not the one stuck with the man. I did what I believed to be necessary. Unfortunately, it did not work out the way I had planned. He proved that I am tiny and irrelevant.

“Are you okay?” Four asks, voice low, and I nod sharply. “You won’t be on a level playing field with Eric, Justice, so don’t try, okay? There are only a few that can actually take him on.”

“He challenged me,” I bite out almost petulantly. “I was simply attempting to get away.”

“So, you kissed him?” Peter calls out and I glare at him hatefully. “Whoa, looks like the ice queen’s got some emotions after all,” he grins and I frown.

“Ice queen?” I echo. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Uh, that you’re a frigid bitch?” Molly smirks. “We thought you were a robot, but I guess you’re not so frigid, huh?”

“Enough,” Four barks and they silence. I frown at them. “Just – Just stay out of Eric’s way, okay? You shouldn’t have said what you did, but he shouldn’t have laid hands on you,” Four sighs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, agitated. “Let’s call you even now, okay?”

“Do you really think Eric will see it that way?” I retort. Four winces and looks away from me. “Precisely,” I mutter and step back. “Can we begin training now?”

We do begin training. If I smack the punching bags a little harder than normal, no one comments, but everyone is giving me these sidelong looks that make me want to scream. Instead, I grit my teeth and focus my attention on the punching bags. I drag my knee up into the leather and punch it as hard as I possibly can, despite how it splits open my knuckles. The bleeding hands are wrapped and I continue with throwing punches, kicks, elbows, and knees into the orange leather. The pain no longer matters. All that matters is the fact that I am imagining Eric’s face in lieu of the punching bag. He humiliated me. He treated me like some toy for him to play with on a whim. I am no one’s toy.

My fist drives into the punching bag so hard that the structure it is attached to gives an ominous creak.

 

* * *

 

The gun is heavy and warm in my hands as I shoot with far more confidence than a week ago. I hit the centre of the target almost every time, just like the majority of the others around me. Myra is still floundering. I do not care. I only care about my own success, ignoring the others’ taunts and new nickname of ‘ice queen’, and pretending that Eric does not exist. He glares whenever we cross paths. I stare straight past him. I find it is safer not to acknowledge his presence. I frown at the thought, especially at the heavy weight of his stare on the back of my head. The target morphs into him and I shoot it directly through the head, right between where the eyes would be. He makes me _angry_. I am not wholly sure what to do with that anger. It twists through me like a venomous snake and infects me with its poison. I do not like it. I do not like _him_.

My fingers flex around the gun and my next shot lands through the heart. It is my final round of ammo. I reluctantly stand and make my to the ammunitions table, where, unfortunately, Eric is stood. I determinedly do not look at him as I take the empty magazine from the gun and set it neatly with the others. My skin prickles and tightens beneath his stare. It is a struggle not to allow him to notice how uncomfortable he makes me. I am so used to being in control of myself that the reactions he incites in me intimidates me. My hands tighten slightly on the gun and on the new magazine of ammo I pick up. Unlike the first day, I smoothly slide the magazine into place and send the first bullet into the chamber. I turn to leave, but a large hand wraps around my bicep and I immediately freeze. My eyes fly up and meet Eric’s.

“Shoot from here,” he orders. My eyes narrow on him suspiciously and I attempt to wrench free from his grip, but his fingers bite into my flesh through my jacket. I am stuck. “I gave you an order, princess,” he sneers and I swallow the anger and uncertainty he stirs up inside of me.

“I cannot shoot with you holding my arm,” I retort as calmly as possible. I yank free this time and raise the gun to take aim. My heart pounds against my ribcage and the target seems so small. I gulp slightly and focus on the biggest target – the chest. I click the safety off the gun and squeeze the trigger. The bullet flies and hits the target. It is not in the centre of the black bullseye, but it is on the ring around it. I lower the gun and lift my gaze to glare at Eric’s unimpressed face. “Can I go now?”

“Not until you hit the bullseye,” he spits back. My jaw clenches and I want to argue against this unfair persecution. “Get on with it, princess.”

“Are the others going to move the same distance back from the target?” I retort. His eyes narrow on me and my eyes meet his fearlessly. He intimidates me. He makes me angry. I am not scared of him.

“No, you’re special,” he sneers. “Now fucking shoot.”

My teeth clench together, but I lift the gun and take aim once more. I adjust my grip on the gun and focus on the target. I stare until the bullseye is all I see through the lens. My breath is slow and steady and Eric’s looming presence becomes unimportant. My finger smoothly curls around the trigger, which is warm from consistent use. I do not hold the weapon too tightly, just enough to make sure it never wavers. I exhale and squeeze the trigger. Slowly, I lower the gun and feel a little light when I notice the bullet has landed precisely where I wanted it to. Slightly defiantly, I look back up at Eric, who is staring at the target with a smirk. I do not like that expression. I frown suspiciously and the well of satisfaction that had formed is gone. I have done exactly what he wanted me to do and that cannot bode well.

“Four, I’m taking her for sniper training,” Eric announces. My eyes widen and I gasp when his thick fingers curl around my bicep and yank. “I’ll drop her off for the afternoon training,” he states and Four nods.

“I told you she was good,” Four says and I glare at him, betrayed. “You’ll be fine, Justice,” he smirks and takes my gun. “He’s going to train you with Edward and Peter to be a sniper.”

“So, it is not just me?” I ask and Four shakes his head. “I suppose that is alright then.”

“Oh, just as long as you’re okay with it, princess,” Eric drawls and yanks on my arm again. “Peter and Edward, keep up,” he barks and the two boys hasten to follow us. “You three have the best shots of your initiation class,” he tells us as we walk. He still has hold of my arm. I attempt to wriggle free, but his fingers tighten and leave their marks. It hurts. “Which means you three get to be assessed for sniper training, if you manage to pass the rest of initiation,” he continues, as though I am not wriggling like an eel in his grip. “Princess, stop squirming.”

“Let me go,” I order. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Nah, it suits you,” Eric grins back at me.

I am startled by how handsome the expression makes him. He should not look like that when he is so cruel and harsh. The expression makes him younger and my stomach clenches uncomfortably. His fingers squeeze lightly and he continues to pull me along. It is as though I am an errant child that he needs to hold onto to ensure that I will not run off, or get into trouble, or end up hurt. The comparison jars me and squeezes painfully at my heart. Meekly, I trot after him and lower my eyes. His hand slips down my bicep and wraps around my forearm just below my elbow, gentler this time. He is frowning down at me, clearly confused as to my sudden change in demeanour, but he does not release me. I ignore him. I can feel my heart clenching painfully as memories run rampant through my head and my hand delves into the pocket of my jacket. The photograph crackles beneath my fingers and guilt makes me nauseous.

Eric’s hand drops from my arm as he opens the door and his hand finds the small of my back instead. The physical contact should be familiar by now, but it makes me jerk. No one touches me. My parents have not willingly touched me in years. Why does he believe that he can lay his hands on me whenever he feels like doing so? I frown slightly and try not to acknowledge that it feels almost comforting. It almost chases away the guilt. I do not deserve to have that guilt chased away. I step out of his grip and my fingers tighten on the photograph in my pocket. It gives a small crackle. It is enough of a sound that it captures his attention and makes him frown over at me. I try not to acknowledge that look and tense when he grasps my wrist to tug me into the building next door.

Inside the building, just ascending the stairs, are the other leaders. “You’re late,” the one I think is called Max states, but with good humour. “Dauntless born finished ten minutes ago.”

“Had to test the princess,” Eric shrugs and tugs me to his side, still gripping my wrist. “She’s good,” he allows and glances back at the boys. “Upstairs, now,” he orders and they obediently jog off. He elbows me and releases my wrist. “You too, princess,” he says and I gratefully follow the boys.

Edward and Peter throw insults back and forth with hatred and spite. It is understandable, I suppose. They are both vying for the top spot in the transfers. I am consistently switching between fourth and third, depending on whether or not I win my spars. So far, I have won the majority. The bruises and scabs on my knuckles attest to that. I flex my abused hands and pick up my pace on the stairs when I sense Eric getting closer behind me. My muscles tense and my skin tightens and prickles. I look at him, irritated, and jog to go past Edward and Peter. I do not like them, but they can be a shield of sorts. Peter scoffs as I shoulder through them and I repress the urge to throw him down the stairs. He still calls me ‘ice queen’ and asks if Eric has melted me. I know what he means. I choose not to dignify his ridiculous questions with answers. As if I would compromise myself by engaging in sexual relations with someone as abhorrent as Eric.

“Aw, you and your boyfriend had a tiff, ice queen?” Peter whispers beside my ear, entirely too close. I elbow him in the throat and continue walking. “ _Bitch_!” he gasps and I turn as he lunges, ready to fight.

Eric snags the back of his collar and wrenches him off of his feet. “Don’t sneak up on the princess,” Eric sighs and steps over Peter, who is sprawled across the stairs. “She gets violent and I’m not carrying anyone to the goddamned infirmary.”

“Unless they have boobs, right?” one of the other leaders laughs, clapping Eric on the shoulder. He is short and stout and winks at me. “Hello, sweetheart,” he grins and slings an arm across my shoulder. I frown disapprovingly at him. He is not deterred. “I’m Damien, a leader,” he informs me.

“Does that mean I cannot punch him?” I ask Eric, who snorts and takes my wrist. He tugs me towards him with a surprising gentleness and pushes me up the stairs after the laughing Edward. “I am taking that as a no,” I mutter under my breath and push open the door at the top of the stairs.

“I call the rifle!” Edward cheers jubilantly, like a giddy child. I roll my eyes as he darts towards the table and I follow at a more sedate pace. Peter skulks after us and gives me a hateful glower. I will pay for the elbow later, but he cannot do anything too severe. I am not afraid of _him_. “Justice should probably take the little gun,” Edward says. My eyes narrow on him. “Since she’s a girl and all.”

Do not punch him. Do not punch him. He beat you unconscious. You cannot punch him.

“I understand, Edward,” I say lightly. He smirks at me. “You are overcompensating.”

He almost drops the rifle and his eyes widen at the heavy implication to my words. “I do not have a small dick!” he protests and I just give him a flat look, raising one eyebrow slightly. “I’ll prove it!”

“Please, don’t,” Eric groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Princess, can we play nicely with others for just an hour? One hour? Normally, I would love to hear you insult him and verbally tear him apart, but not now, okay? So, nicely.”

“She’s adorable,” Damien decides and pats my head. I duck away from his hand with a disapproving frown and smooth my hair back into its ponytail. “Come on, sweetheart, I’ll give you a private lesson,” he winks meaningfully and I edge away from him.

“No, thank you,” I deny and repress a shudder. “What are we doing here? What are we shooting?” I ask Eric and he looks mildly grateful that we are getting on with things.

“Set up on the west edge of the building,” the only woman commands. Her voice is harsh and commanding and none of us disobey. “You need to be level with the ledge and completely flat,” she instructs and eyes us critically, waiting.

I look over the rooftop and jog towards a tall table that should be fit for purpose. I push it up against the ledge and head back to grab a sleek, light rifle. I put ammunition in my pockets and turn back to my table, only to find Peter sprawled across it with a smug smirk. He whistles innocently with a guileless expression as he sets up his rifle on a tripod. I rest my weapon against the wall at a safe distance and then grab the edge of the table. His eyes widen, but he is not fast enough to stop me. I flip the table on its side and he hits the ground with a startled yell. Edward laughs. I just right the table, grab my rifle, and sling myself onto the surface.

“Don’t!” Eric barks when Peter goes to replicate my move. “Find something else,” Eric orders sharply. “I don’t care what, just hurry the fuck up.”

“Is it always like this?” Max asks warily.

“No, she tends to keep to herself mostly, but she rubs people the wrong way,” Eric bites out. I glance back to see him wearing a small smirk, despite the terse words. His eyes meet mine and I look away from him hastily. “Peter goes out of his way to try and get a reaction out of her, but it doesn’t work most of the time.”

“Okay, kids, stop playing around,” the woman snaps. Peter grumbles and sets up beside me. He glares at me hatefully. I look back at him, unimpressed. “At some point, your target is going to stroll through your line of vision in the building opposite,” she tells us. I frown, but bring my eye down to the sight on my rifle. “You’ll know it when you see it and, when you do, first one to hit it wins,” she grins. “Have fun, kids.”

She leaves. I do not look to see if any of the others remain. I keep my focus on the building opposite us. I scan each floor periodically. The sun beats down on my back until I am forced to remove my jacket. My tank top clings to my torso from the sweat, but I have not missed my target in removing my jacket. I settle back into position smoothly and feel everything. The breeze tickles my skin and teases my hair across the back of my neck. The sun is hot and will burn my fair skin if we stay out here for too long. The boys either side of me are getting restless. They shift continuously and I hear them both let out impatient sighs at multiple intervals, but I ignore them. We have a job to do. I will succeed. I adjust my grip around my sleek rifle when my hands begin to grow stiff.

Time ticks on slowly until it loses meaning. I do not how long passes before I notice movement on the twenty-second floor of the building. It is bright and orange and obnoxious and I fire without hesitation. One shot through the head of what I recognise as a training dummy. Another movement two floors up. I shoot that too. A third fourteen floors up and I shoot it seconds before Edward. I give a final scan of the building in case of anything else, but there is nothing. I wait, even as I hear the boys shift and stand. It does not matter that my body aches from being in the same position for so long. I have to make sure that there is nothing else in that building. My lips press together and I reluctantly sit up when nothing else moves in the windows. I stretch my arms out either side of me and feel my spine crackle when I arch my back slightly.

“She hit every single one,” I hear someone saying. I look up to see the male leaders talking amongst themselves. Eric is watching me. I meet his gaze and frown slightly. “Did the boys get any?” it is Damien speaking and he wears a small grin.

“Edward got the last one, but only after she’d fired,” Max shrugs and he eyes me with interest. “Peter wasn’t quick enough.”

“He wasn’t paying attention,” Eric corrects. “He got bored.”

“Snipers need patience,” the fourth states with a slight frown. “The girl has that, at least, and she’s got a decent aim.”

“All of them were head shots,” Damien agrees and gives a small nod, rubbing a hand over his shaved head thoughtfully.

“Guess all that private training with Eric paid off, huh?” Peter hisses in my ear. I frown at him. What private training? All of my interactions with Eric have been public. “Or do you just push your rank up by spreading your legs?”

Oh. _That_ sort of private training.

My fingers curl into my palms to form my hands into fists, but I do not react. I merely send him an unimpressed look that seems to piss him off even more. Edward sniggers on my other side and I glance at him. I hold no lingering resentment for the fact that he beat me, but it does still irritate me a little. It was inevitable, but that does not mean I have to like it. There is also something wild about him. It sets my teeth on edge. He is uncontrolled, like a typical Dauntless, but there is something else and I do not like it. It makes me want to distance myself from him. I do. I step back towards the ledge and look out over the city.

We are on the edge, closer to the fence than Candor, Erudite, and Abnegation. Only the Amity spend life on the other side. A lot of the buildings around us are in ruins. The building opposite us, for example, is mostly ruinous for the last twelve floors. I doubt that you can even get that high. The stairwells are probably blocked from what I saw through the sight of the rifle. The elevator more than likely does not work. It must have taken a fair bit of work to get the training dummies in there and moving, all for a bit of training. It is curious, but I do not linger on it. I press my hands against the rough stone and lean forwards slightly. From here, everything seems so small. It must be what it is like to be Eric’s height.

“We’re leaving, princess,” Eric calls. I turn my head to find that he is one of the last on the rooftop. With a reluctant nod, I walk towards him and pick up my jacket on my way. “No ink yet, princess?” he asks, running a finger down my bare arm.

With a frown, I swiftly pull my jacket on, despite how warm I am. “No,” I say simply. He smirks at me.

“Why not? Afraid of needles?” Eric taunts. I glare at him and shake my head. He lets me into the stairwell first, even holds the door open for me. Manners urge me to murmur my gratitude. “Then why?” he insists.

“Because I do not want to,” I reply honestly. It never actually occurred to me to get a tattoo. I do not know what I would get. I have no memories I wish to immortalise on my flesh. Perhaps I should tell him that. “Why did you get your tattoos?” I ask instead.

“To look Dauntless,” Eric shrugs. I frown at that. He is telling the truth, but it is ridiculous.

“You _are_ Dauntless – you should not need to attempt to look the part,” I point out. My eyes flicker over him quickly. He looks Dauntless because of his large, solid frame, not because of his tattoos. “Did they hurt?” I ask and touch my fingers to my throat to indicate which of his tattoos that I mean. “The throat is a sensitive area.”

“A bit,” he admits. His eyes are on my fingers, which are still rested on my throat. “The worst was the one on my ribs.”

“What do you have there?” I question before I can stop myself. My eyes scan his clothed torso, as though I can see through the fabric.

“Lots of questions today, princess,” Eric smirks, shrugging out of his jacket.

I cannot stop my eyes from darting to his thick arms. The muscle in them ripples dangerously. It makes my mouth dry. I gulp slightly. He tosses the jacket at me. I barely manage to curl my fingers into the stiff, heavy fabric and automatically fold it and drape it over my arms. By the time I look back at him, he is pulling his shirt up and over his head. A squeak escapes me and I turn my head away quickly, cheeks burning. He laughs quietly. We have stopped now. We are still in the middle of the stairwell. I can barely hear the others now. I am alone with him and he is _stripping_. I swallow roughly and he laughs again. His fingers slide over my jaw and pull my face around until I am looking at him.

“You wanted to see,” Eric teases and lifts his right arm to show the ink covering his right side.

I cannot stop my eyes from darting down and examining the tattoo he is showing me. What I see surprises me. An angel bearing a large sword flies from his pale skin. The angel is a lithe man with short, wavy hair, but his expression is strong and stern. He is garbed in flowing robes that extend into his large wings, which curve across Eric’s back and over his ribs. It is not what I was expecting, but it is surprisingly beautiful. I almost want to touch it and trace the smooth, elegant lines of the angel. My fingers twitch on his jacket and I lean slightly closer. The more I look, the more I see. There are flames along the edges of the wings and there is a knife in the angel’s other hand. My head tilts to the side and my eyes rake along the ink with mild wonder and amazement.

“It is beautiful,” I hear myself saying a hushed voice. I can almost _feel_ his smug grin. I lean back with some heat to my cheeks and my eyes dart away from him. “You should put your shirt back on,” I mutter and he laughs lowly.

Calloused fingers stroke over my jaw, turning my face back towards his, and Eric’s blue eyes dance. I am not in control anymore. I have not been in control since he removed his shirt. I step back and my eyes widen as my foot slips on the stair and my body begins to fall. My hands release his jacket and scrabble for something to hold onto. I see his hands lurch forwards and gasp as they curve around my ribs and pull me sharply upright against his bare chest. My fingers latch onto his biceps to keep myself upright and my feet arch up onto tiptoes in my new sneakers. My wide eyes meet his and his face is incredibly close to my own. His breath puffs against my mouth and my heart pounds in my throat. His hands curve more firmly around my ribs and a thumb slips between breasts.

“Okay, princess?” Eric says softly, stroking his thumb smoothly over my breastbone. His eyes are locked on mine and his mouth is so close that I can feel each word puff against my lips. I give a slightly shaky nod and try to ignore how close his naked chest is. His thumb strokes against the side of my breast and I jerk back, but he firmly pulls me closer. His thumb has left my breast and is now pressing against my ribs. “Careful,” he murmurs and one hand slips around to rest against the small of my back. “Wouldn’t want to have an accident, would you?” he whispers. His nose brushes over mine and my breath catches in my throat.

“I – you should let me go,” I state and attempt to slide free safely, but he does not let me go. “Eric,” I whisper and his head tilts to the side slightly. He leans closer and I hastily look down. Unfortunately, it means I am staring directly at his torso. Hair lightly dusts his pectorals, coarse and dark and curly, and every single muscle is sharply defined. I gulp. I wish I could control the heat that is flushing through me. My hands tremble on his arms and I hope he does not notice. “You need to let me go,” I insist, but my voice is quiet and soft and uncertain. I let go of his arms and attempt to slide free, but his arm bands around my waist and my back is pressed against a wall. “Eric,” I protest. His eyes are dark, due to his dilated pupils, and his breath is fast and hot against my mouth.

“I’m going to make you shatter,” he promises in a low, rough voice. A shiver shudders down my spine. I cannot look away from him. His closeness makes my skin feel tight and prickly and my stomach clench. I do not know what to do. I want to push him away and run from the intimacy he is suggesting, but I am frozen in his strong arms. “You’re going to come apart right under my hands,” he whispers. He strokes a hand up my ribs, deliberately brushing his long fingers over my breast, and cups my neck. Another shiver rolls through me. My breath is coming in short, sharp bursts and my fingers clench against the wall behind me. “You’ll come to me, princess, and _beg_ me to pull all that control away.”

“Let go,” I command, but my words are weak. I am out of my depth. I do not know how to react to him. All that I do know is that I want to get as far away from him as possible to gather my thoughts. “This – this is entirely inappropriate,” I insist and sound a little firmer than before.

“Yeah,” Eric agrees with a wicked grin. “It is.”

He lowers his head and I have no time to avoid the kiss he brands me with. A thumb slides under my chin to force my head back and give him easier access to my mouth. He does not ask for my response – he _demands_ it. My knees shudder and I have no choice but to grab his broad shoulders to stay upright. He is stripping away my control. I cannot allow him to do so, but it feels so _good_ and the heavy truths that have shackled me for years melt away. I am powerless in his arms. A whimper escapes me and his tongue forces its way into my mouth. The last time a boy did this, it felt disgusting, but now heat rushes through my veins and I can only cling to him.

Suddenly, I am kissing back and pulling him closer determinedly. My nails dig into his bare flesh and I find myself pushing back against him. My teeth scrape over his bottom lip. My fingers curve sharply around the back of his neck. My body arches into his. I should not be doing this. This is not the daughter my parents raised. I have not been that girl in so long. A breathy sound escapes me when he breaks the kiss. I do not open my eyes to look at his triumphant, smug expression. Instead, I yank him back into another kiss and he groans deep in his chest. His hips rock into mine. It snaps me back into reality.

“Wait,” I protest. His mouth moves to the side of my neck. He _bites_. I gasp and my eyes flutter dangerously, before I drag back what little control I have. “Eric, stop!” I order and shove at his broad shoulders determinedly. He tenses and moves back with a scowl. I can feel why. His erection determinedly grinds into my lower abdomen. “I’m sorry,” I gasp and manage to wrench myself free.

I almost fall down the stairs in my haste to run down them and away from him. I hear him curse loudly. I just keep running.

 

* * *

 

My fingers hurt. The bathroom floor all but sparkles, but my fingertips have been ripped open and I have had to wrap my hands firmly to prevent blood smearing across the clean tiles. I would sleep, but, every time I close my eyes, I dream of Eric’s hands and mouth and body. He has turned me into some idiot girl controlled by her hormones and that is someone I refuse to be. I nod determinedly and begin scrubbing the shower stalls. I have been distracted all afternoon because of _him_. He has distracted me. I hate him for it. I scowl and toss the scrubbing brush into the bucket beside me. I rinse it out and begin scrubbing with renewed determination. I am in control. I am not controlled by something as foolish as hormones.

Even if his teeth have left their mark in my flesh.

 _No_. He is not in control. He is just some idiot man that finds it fun to toy with me. _I_ am in control. It is _my_ body and I decide what I do with it. Another nod and I scrub at the grotty tiles with a frown. What are people doing to these things? I cleaned them only the other day. Would it be so difficult to wipe them down once they have finished showering? I snort softly and dig deep into the far, right corner of the shower stall. I feel my bandage tear slightly. I wince at the burn of the bleach seeping into my wounds. Reluctantly, I stand and move to the sink to wash the bleach out. If rubber gloves were provided, it would make things so much easier. I sigh and get back to work. I blink the sleep away stubbornly and shake my head. I will not let fatigue win. I have a goal and I will achieve it.

By the time the others are awake, the dormitory is spotless and I have run out of cleaning supplies. They stare in shock at the clean surfaces. I just finish lacing up my sneakers and leave for breakfast. I will need a lot of coffee to get through the day. I shrug on my jacket and zip it up with the hope that the high neck will help to conceal the bite mark Eric left in my skin. Perhaps I will have time to buy some makeup to hide it. My fingertips touch it, but the rough rasp of fresh bandages scrapes over my skin and I lower my hand. I scan the dining area as I enter, hoping that Eric is not there. He is not. I breathe a soft sigh of relief and get some food. I choose the foods that will give me the most energy and even manage to obtain two chocolate muffins, which are usually gone before I manage to drag myself into the hall for breakfast. I am not a morning person.

A table near the exit with a good view of the room is chosen. It helps that it holds an entire pot of steaming coffee. I swiftly pour myself a cup and add cream and two sugars. A yawn threatens to escape me, but I stifle it stubbornly. My fatigue will not better me, nor will Eric. Eric will be dismissed. He will no longer be interested in tormenting me. He will not saunter through my dreams. He most definitely not kiss me, either in my dreams or in reality, and I will certainly not kiss him. I will also never beg for him. He can keep _that_ little fantasy to himself. I can just see what he wants to happen. He wants me on my knees in front of him for convenient access to my mouth. My lips twist at the thought and I shake the thought away firmly.

We are not thinking of Eric. Bad.

I have three muffins and two cups of coffee in total and regret it the second I walk into the training room, where Eric is waiting with Four. His expression is dangerously blank. I avoid his eyes, but cannot stop the blush that fills my cheeks. I push it down determinedly and shamelessly hide behind Will and his friends. The group is big enough to conceal me easily. I distract myself by adjusting the bandages around my hands. I do need to ask Four for more cleaning supplies, however. I glance around a large blonde boy – Al, I believe – and find that Eric is gone for the moment. Gratefully, I stride over to Four quickly. He looks at me in both surprise and suspicion. Perfectly reasonable. I tend not to approach him unless I need something. I am selfish like that.

“The dormitory has run out of cleaning supplies,” I state bluntly. “I require some more.”

“You used _all_ of the cleaning supplies?” Four asks, startled. I nod impatiently. “You’ll have to ask Eric – he’s in charge of your supplies.”

“And you cannot ask him for me?” I frown disapprovingly. I have no wish to interact with Eric any more than strictly necessary, which means not at all.

Four’s eyebrows furrow and his eyes sharpen on me. “Has something else happened, Justice?” he demands and I do not wish to answer. If I say yes, then it looks as though I am weak and running to Four to make it all go away. I can handle Eric. “If he’s making you feel uncomfortable, or suggesting you do… _things_ to bump up your ranking, I can do something about that,” Four insists, voice low.

My eyes narrow on him. “I do not need to give anyone sexual favours in order further myself and I do not like the suggestion that I do,” I snap, not bothering to lower my voice.

“Four, trying to take advantage of the initiates,” a terribly familiar voice drawls, amused. I turn sharply to find Eric smirking down at me. “Shame on you.”

“I was asking her if _you_ were trying to take advantage of her,” Four defends angrily, but his ears are red and his eyes are embarrassed. “Are you?”

“I’m not offering to bump her rank in return for blowjobs, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Eric retorts with a shrug and folds his arms over his chest. I determinedly do not follow the movement with my eyes. “What’s going on, princess?” he asks and his blue-grey eyes flicker to me.

“The dormitory has run out of cleaning supplies,” I answer sharply. I am keeping a safe distance between us, as I doubt an audience will deter him. It would probably only spur him on. “I require some more.”

“You cleaned the dorm? Is that what happened to your hands?” Eric frowns sharply and grabs one of my bandaged hands. He lifts it to inspect it and runs his thumb over my palm. “Did you sleep at all?”

“I am fine,” I bite out and wrench my hand from his. My skin tightens at the contact. I do not like it. I will not let it continue for longer than it needs to. “Will you have the necessary supplies delivered to the dormitory?”

“Only for you, princess,” Eric smirks. He steps closer until I have to crane my neck back to continue looking him in the eye. He tilts his head down so that I can feel his breath puffing against my mouth. “I’m going to need a little something from you in return, though.”

I jerk back and almost crash into Four. “Forget it,” I reply haughtily. “I shall deal with it myself.”

Eric laughs lowly and I leave before he can attempt to pull me back in. I am in control. He does not control me, nor do my hormones. My reaction to him is purely biological. He is attractive, unfortunately, and a healthy specimen of a male. It is only natural that my body would react in such a manner to him. I should not have kissed him back, but my body was guiding me and not my mind. It was not my fault. As long as I keep a healthy distance from him, I should be fine and I mean at least a room’s length by healthy distance. Any closer is dangerous. He is extremely potent. I know far too much about him. I know how it feels to be against his naked chest. I know how it feels to wrap my hands around him and run them over his skin. I know how he smells (like something metallic, smoke, and with the slightest hint of sweat). I know how his mouth tastes like mint. I know how it feels to kiss him. I should not know those things and I will not experience them again.

“We’re heading for the train!” Four calls over the chatter in the room. I look up at him, surprised. “We’re taking a trip out to the fence, so let’s go,” he insists and waves a hand at the door.

Everyone obediently troops out. Eric leads the way and Four comes up the rear. I stick to the middle of the group. It is safer. Four cannot question me about Eric. Eric cannot torment me. I keep my expression clear of emotion, because I am in control. Eric does not control me. I tug at my bandages slightly, ensuring that they cover all of the scrapes on my palms and fingers. It would not do for Eric to see them and start reprimanding me over them, or worse, taunting me about them. He will more than likely make fun of me. I have no interest in listening to him mocking me. My lips pinch together and I glare at the back of Eric’s head. It is easy to find considering he stands a half a head taller than the tallest initiate. My arms fold defensively over my stomach and my spine straightens defiantly, even though he cannot see it. I am certain he knows.

We stop on the train platform. I immediately put myself as far away from Eric as possible. I can all but feel him scanning the crowd. He had best not be searching for me. I face the direction the train should be coming from. I keep my head held high and my spine straight. He will not affect me in any way at all. At least, he will not see the affect he has on me, which is sheer and complete revulsion. Yes, I am revolted by him. He is abhorrent. He is cruel and cold and rude. He is a terrible person that enjoys ripping people apart and watching them crumble. He likes being the worst person in the room. He derives a sick pleasure from breaking people and knowing that he is the biggest, meanest, cruellest asshole to walk what is left of our earth.

“I’ll get your cleaning supplies delivered by the end of the day.”

My body tenses at the statement that comes from a surprisingly respectable distance to my left. I turn my head to find Eric stood still too close for my comfort, but with enough distance not to draw any unwanted attention. “Thank you,” I say shortly and turn my eyes back to the tracks. Maybe he will go away now and leave me alone. I should know by now that I am not that lucky.

“You left me with a problem yesterday, princess,” Eric states smoothly. My muscles bunch even tighter and my stomach clenches. I know. I had felt it pressing against me, digging into me, and demanding my further attention. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Then I suppose it is a good thing I did not choose Amity,” I retort bitingly. He gives a small snort at that. My eyes flicker to him and find a smirk on his face. “I – I made a mistake that I will not be repeating,” I say firmly without looking at him.

“Really?” Eric asks, amused. That surprises me. I expected him to be angry, or indignant. He should not be amused. His hand touches my waist and I leap back, as though he has burned me. My eyes flash up to his face and he is smirking, almost grinning. “It wasn’t a mistake, princess,” he promises. “I’ve got the claw marks to prove it.”

“It was a biological response,” I insist and his eyes flash. I am striding into dangerous territory and have no idea how to stop. “And it will not be happening again,” I tell him coldly and turn away from him. I know that dismissing him like that is a dangerous thing to do, but there is nothing else to do.

“A biological response?” Eric whispers directly into my ear. I can feel the heat of him. He has invaded my personal space and his lips threaten to brush my earlobe with each word. My skin tightens and prickles and a lump forms in my throat. His fingers skim over my waist and clench around my hip when I attempt to move away. “Bullshit,” he decides and I feel him look around, before he takes my zipper and begins sliding it down.

“Stop,” I hiss and slap his hand away. I yank the zipper back up to my throat and shove his other hand from my hip. “I have no interest into being a notch on your bedpost,” I snap and glare at him furiously. His face is blank now, but his eyes are bright and his body is coiled and ready to pounce, like a predator’s. “In which case, I suggest finding another girl to torment,” I say sharply and jerk away from him as the train curves around the bend.

“Why would I do that when you’re so much fun, princess?” Eric calls after me. I shiver slightly at the promise in his tone and force myself to concentrate on catching the train.

Eric, unfortunately, settles himself beside me when we are all in the train. I glare at him icily. I once made a child cry with that look, but it only serves to amuse him. A frown forms on my face and I determinedly stare out of the open doors of the train. The city blurs past. Buildings form one, big smear, indistinguishable from each other. It is almost soothing. It would be, if I could not feel Eric’s heat and strength at my side. My skin feels too tight again and it prickles with awareness at his close proximity. He should not be so close. It is difficult to concentrate on anything _but_ him and I do not want that. I do not want _him_. I cannot stop myself from sending him a dark look. He merely smirks back in return. His eyes are light and dancing again. That never bodes well for me.

“Why are we going to the fence?” I demand when the silence threatens to suffocate me. I only ever feel stifled by quiet around him. When he is not talking, I do not know what he is up to. Honestly, even when he talks, I do not know what he is up to, but at least he cannot kiss me unexpectedly if his mouth otherwise occupied.

“So the grunts that barely scrape past training know what they’ll be doing,” Eric answers bluntly. I almost find it amusing. “You might have to go out there a few times,” he adds slyly. I look at him sharply. I am near the top of the transfer initiates. Why would I be sent to the fence when he has just said that those that are near the bottom of the ranks are going to go there? “If you decide to continue with sniper training after initiation, you’ll go for training out on the fence,” he explains smugly. My eyes narrow slightly. “After that, you’ll be assigned to the specialist unit and called out when necessary.”

“How often are snipers needed?” I ask blandly. He gives a shrug. “How many of them are in Dauntless?”

“One,” he states. My eyes widen slightly in surprise. “They aren’t needed except in special circumstances, but it’s always best to keep one around, just in case.”

“And you picked _me_?” I question, doubtful. “What about the Dauntless born?”

“You’re the only one that hit every target, but you’ll be up against a few others for the position, if you choose to fight for it,” Eric shrugs. “It’s a well sought after position.”

“Do you think I could get it?” I ask curiously, genuinely interested in his answer.

“You’re not like other Dauntless,” Eric answers. His eyes meet mine and my stomach clenches. I want to look away, but I am fixed in place. “You’ve got more patience the entire faction combined, at least while you’re waiting for your shot, and that’s what a sniper needs,” he explains. “That’s another reason there are so few snipers in Dauntless.”

“No one has the patience?” I retort. His lips twitch and he nods. “What if I score badly on the second stage of training?”

“Then you’ll be honing your aim at the fence, princess,” Eric grins down at me. I do not want that. “You’ll be fine, princess,” he promises confidently. His eyes sharpen and grow more intense. “To pass the second stage, you need to be in control of yourself and you are, so you’ll be fine.”

“In control of myself whilst doing what?” I frown suspiciously. He just smirks. “There is nothing wrong with being prepared – tell me,” I insist, but that only serves to make him laugh quietly.

“It gives you an unfair advantage, princess,” he retorts. His fingers stroke across my cheekbone. My head jerks back sharply and smacks against the wall of the train carriage with a resounding thud that attracts multiple gazes. Momentarily, my vision blanks and I have to blink a few times to refocus. He stands incredibly close with an amused grin on his face. “Okay?” he asks, humour hanging heavy on every syllable. I glare at him sulkily and rub the back of my head.

“Yes,” I snap. “I am fine.”

“Sure? Because you hit your head real hard,” Eric insists and curves a hand around the back of my head. That hand almost encompasses my entire skull. I tense in his grip and dig my heels in when he gives me a tug. I am propelled forwards against my will. My body hits his solid chest and he easily leans over me to look at the throbbing patch of my head. “No blood,” he murmurs. I feel his chest vibrate with the words. My cheeks heat. “You feeling dizzy, princess?” he questions and I give a shake of my head and attempt to escape. His hand clenches around my waist and I freeze. “Maybe you should sit down,” he sighs in false concern. “I would really hate for you to faint.”

“I am not going to faint,” I protest, but he is already tugging me down to the ground. He sits with his back against the wall and cradles me between his long legs with an arm around me. “This is completely unnecessary,” I argue and struggle.

“I’m helping, princess,” Eric replies and pats my back, just above my bottom. I squirm uncomfortably and attempt to stand, but he pulls me down sharply. “Sit down and get some rest, princess,” he orders. There is no more jest in his tone. He is serious. He has even lowered his voice so that the others do not hear. “You didn’t sleep last night and don’t bullshit me,” he snaps when I open my mouth to argue. “You need rest if you’re going to pass initiation, so just stay still and relax.”

“Why do you care if I pass?” I bite out, but stop wriggling. I will not win anyway. He is unfairly strong and easily engulfs me with his large frame.

He smirks and his fingers stroke down the back of my neck. “I like you, princess,” he says blandly. He is telling the truth. I do not quite believe him, however. No one likes me. No one has willingly spent time in my company in years. “You’re a bitch and you own it and you don’t give a shit what anyone says about you.”

“I do care about the fact that everyone thinks that we are sleeping together,” I mutter darkly. I hate myself for relaxing against his warmth. My eyes are starting to feel heavy. “And you do not help matters.”

“Why would I want to do that? That’s the only reason no one’s trying to get in your pants,” Eric grins. I glare at him tiredly and shift between his legs until my side fits neatly against his chest. His arm curves around my waist and my head rests on his broad shoulder. I can practically smell his smug triumph. I can feel his heart beating steadily beneath me. “If you think about it, princess, I’m _helping_ you by keeping away any unwanted attention,” he continues.

I snort and feel my eyes closing. I would say something waspish about finding a way to divert his ‘unwanted attention’, but I suddenly feel incredibly tired. My fingers curl into his jacket at the opposite shoulder to my head and a sleepy sigh escapes me. I should not be doing this. I should not be relaxing around him. I should not be curled up against him like a cat devoted to its owner, but I am. I feel his hand flatten against my waist and his thumb stroke over the bottom of my ribs. His hand is warm even through my jacket and t-shirt. He is strong and solid and warm. I feel incredibly small nestled against him. I feel light, like there are no more weights pulling me down. I feel warm, as though there are no cold shackles around my throat. He should not make me feel these things, but he chases everything away. He is so present that he is the only thing I can acknowledge.

I fall asleep and, for once, I do not dream of blood and broken bodies.

 

* * *

 

Someone shakes my shoulder in a (foolish) attempt to wake me before I am ready. I retaliate in the way that Dauntless has taught me: with a swift punch to the face. That done, I squirm back into my oddly comfortable and warm bed and let out a content sigh. I cannot remember the last time I felt like this. It has been so long since I felt anything but cold and hollow. My arms coil around my pillow and my face turns into something warm and firm. Another sigh slips past my lips and I frown slightly as my body is shifted and lifted. What is going on? There are no more attempts to wake me, however, so I curl against my pillow and slip back into a deep slumber. My body falls slack and limp against the solid warmth that cradles me and my arms loosen slightly, but do not release.

There is a sharp jolt that almost jerks me into consciousness, but fingers rub soothing circles into the small of my back. It reminds me of my mom. She used to do that when I was ill and it never failed to calm me. A small smile curves my lips and I lean into the touch. The tension that had clenched my muscles at the jolting motion melts away and leaves me relaxed and content. My fingers curl into stiff fabric. Strength and heat envelope me. The smells of metal and smoke tickle my nostrils and I breathe them in. They are not the smells of citrus and cedar wood that normally surround my parents, but it is oddly soothing all the same. Some deep part of me recognises that nothing will ever happen to me whilst that smell is in my nostrils. My stomach clenches pleasantly and my hand slips down until it rests over a steady thump, almost like a heartbeat.

Strains of music suddenly reach my ears. A frown takes over the smile on my face and my eyes crack open slightly. My body must tense slightly, because those fingers begin stroking small circles against the bottom of my spine once more. I mumble in protest after a moment, but curl tighter around my pillow and enjoy the soothing swaying motion. There are voices around me, but they sound distant, as though I am hearing them through water. My lips brush over something warm and smooth. It tastes like slightly like salt. That is not normal. The beat beneath my fingertips spikes slightly when my lips touch the surface they are so close to. I frown a little deeper and blink my heavy eyes open reluctantly. A yawn pulls free from me before I can stop it. My fingers clench around the rough fabric and my eyes open properly to find someone’s neck directly in my line of vision.

“Wake up, princess,” a deep voice murmurs. Whoever is carrying me attempts to set me down. I stubbornly tighten my grip. No. I feel warm and safe and comfortable. I miss feeling this way. I close my eyes again and feel my hair being brushed back from my face. It falls heavy and loose around me. It creates a curtain of privacy and safety I do not want pushed away. “Come on, princess,” the same voice urges. “I’m not carrying you all day.”

Carrying me? Where are we? That damned music is still playing. Dear god, have I been brought to Amity against my will? My head lifts sleepily, awareness struggling to take hold, and I grimace when the sun assaults my eyes. I turn back into the person’s neck. It is too bright. I do not like it. My arms lock around their neck and I let out a stubborn huff. That earns a low chuckle from the person. It is a man. He is too strong and solid to be anything else. He gives me a gentle shake and I cautiously lift my head once more. Another yawn escapes me and I have the clarity of mind to cover my mouth this time. The sun still assaults my eyes, but I can handle it a little better now. My hair falls in a tangle around my face and I push it out of the way with a small sigh.

My eyes meet blue-grey and my body tenses. “Eric,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Those eyes start to dance and he smirks at me. “Why are you carrying me?”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” he answers. “Thought you’d slipped into a coma for a bit there.”

“Why does my hand hurt?” I frown and look down at my throbbing knuckles. He laughs at that. It is not a small, low chuckle, as I am used to. It is a loud, genuine laugh that startles me and attracts attention.

“You punched Al,” he answers when he has regained control of himself. I blink, confused and startled. “He tried to wake you up and you punched him.”

“Why did he attempt something so foolish?” I frown and allow Eric to set me on my feet. My teeth grind together when I realise the Amity music is closer. “I thought we were going to the fence – why can I hear that godawful din?” I demand and point accusingly at the Amity that are _still_ singing. “Make them stop,” I command imperiously. I sound like a sulky toddler that cannot have the toy it wants.

“If I could, princess, I would,” Eric promises and gives the Amity a glare of his own. His hand is still on my waist. I should probably move, but I feel oddly comfortable and lazy. I do not want to move. I am stood incredibly close to him. I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His gaze is soft, for once. It should concern me, but, right now, all I want is to curl back against him and go back to sleep. My hand slips into his of its own accord and he stares at our linked appendages, before his fingers slowly curl over my own and he gives a light squeeze. “Come on, princess,” he sighs and tugs me away.

He keeps hold of my hand.

My body leans into his side and, surprisingly, he lets it happen. My head rests on his bicep and my eyes are half-closed and on Four, who keeps sending us bewildered looks. I yawn sleepily and decide not to care. Eric is surprisingly comfortable and his fingers are calloused and warm around my hand. His hand is so much larger than my own. I stroke my fingers across his scabbed, bruised knuckles and wonder what he did to earn such injuries. I glance down at our linked hands, which are mostly hidden by our legs. We are so close. I should not be this close to him, but I cannot bring myself to care. I do not even care, not even with the looks the others are sending us. I am comfortable. I even feel content. There is no leaden weight in my stomach and I feel sleepy and peaceful. Our steps match, despite the difference in leg length. I sigh and listen to Four explain the fence and the jobs there. It is boring.

“What’s out there?” I hear Tris ask and lift my head to look at her curiously.

“Amity farms,” Will answers. I almost roll my eyes. I do not think the obvious answer is what Tris was looking for.

“Places that did not find peace after the war,” I state confidently. Eyes flicker to me and Eric is smirking at me again. I frown at him suspiciously, but do not move. “Places that could not, or would not, recover,” I say and feel myself waking up a little more.

“You think there are others out there?” Tris asks me directly, eyebrows furrowed. “People outside the city?”

“Probably,” I reply honestly and swallow another yawn. “Why would we be the only ones left? The people outside are probably dangerous and unwilling to fit into our society and, therefore, must be stopped from entering.”

“But, no one’s attempted to enter the city… _ever_ ,” Will protests. “If we’re the only ones left with a peaceful society, why wouldn’t others outside be attempting to infiltrate our city?”

“Perhaps they don’t know about us,” Christina pipes up. “We can’t see any other cities around, so maybe no one knows we’re here.”

“Maybe, but I suppose we shall never know,” I shrug tiredly and push my hair back behind my ear. “I can still hear the Amity,” I inform Eric with a slight frown. My eyes narrow when he laughs quietly. “I fail to see the humour in the situation.”

“You never do, princess,” he retorts. I give him a flat look that only serves to make him laugh a little louder _at_ me. “You need to lighten up, princess.”

“Perhaps I would if you did not insist on calling me ‘princess,’” I shoot back. His fingers clench around my hand when I attempt to disengage the hold. Part of me is glad, but I try to ignore that part of me. “It sounds insulting and derogatory.”

“It’s a term of endearment,” Christina says daringly with a wicked grin and hastily darts behind Four when both Eric and I glower at her. “Fuck, that’s scary,” she breathes shakily. “They’re bad alone, but together it’s like the apocalypse or something.”

“That is a gross exaggeration,” I protest. Eric snorts softly. I glare at him and he raises an eyebrow in response. Why did I feel comfortable in his presence? He is aggravating and arrogant and awful. I try to tug my hand free, but his grip tightens. I wince slightly at the pressure on my wounded hands. “That hurts,” I snap quietly. He startles me by loosening his grip slightly, but he does not release me.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he replies, voice deep and smooth.

I roll my eyes and turn my gaze over the expanse of yellowy grass outside of the fence. It is oddly beautiful, in a lost, sad kind of way. It makes something tighten in my gut, but it is not the clench in my stomach that Eric ignites. The scene is lonely. There is just a barren expanse of land that leads to trees, which surround and hide the Amity compound. The grass stretches for something to touch. It sways to the whims of the wind and strains for contact, but always shies away before contact is made. It reminds me of myself, on some level. I am reaching and stretching for something to hold onto, but reeling back whenever that closeness threatens. Eric is the exception. He touches me and, even though my battered psyche recoils violently, my starved body that has been aching for some form of contact arches into him. My control is shattered when it comes to him.

There is a sudden, loud, metallic creak that makes me tense in surprise. Eric’s fingers gently tug me into his side and I spot the big gates swinging open to allow the terrible musicians of Amity entrance. Before I can stop myself, I frown. I hate singing, especially if it is done badly, as the Amity do. I give them a cold look and turn away from them. Unfortunately, there is no way to block the noise from my ears. Eric chuckles at my reaction, which earns him a dark look too. He surprises me with a small grin that softens and lightens his whole face. It makes him look younger and far more approachable, even more so than the way he holds my hand in his. My fingers lock a little firmer around his and surprise registers in his eyes, but he swiftly stifles it before it even fully forms. I am surprised he allows such a frivolous act as hand holding.

“Are you quite certain that we cannot order them into silence once they cross into city limits?” I ask dully and Eric lets out a low laugh.

“Sorry, princess,” he retorts. “No can do.”

Disappointed, I sigh and push my loose hair out of my face. I wonder what happened to the elastic I _know_ was holding it back earlier. His hand startles me by rising. I tense automatically, but do not flinch back from the expected blow. Dauntless training has taught me to be wary of unexpected movements, especially ones that come from people such as Eric, but he shocks me by pushing my hair back behind my ear. My eyes widen and I jerk back from his touch. He lets me this time. He releases my hand. I miss the touch, though I shall never admit it aloud. I watch him close himself off again. I watch the small grin fade back into a cold, harsh expression of controlled cruelty. He will insult me soon. He will cast off any aspersions to his character with some sneered words that probably involve trying to seduce me. Perhaps he will even use the slanderous words ‘melt the ice queen’, as Peter and his friends do. I will not blame him if he does.

Eric stays silent, but he leaves me alone. He walks off to talk to some Dauntless that guard the fence and open the gates. I feel abruptly cold and lonely. I did not realise I did not feel lonely with Eric beside me, until he was gone. I feel the heavy weights of my truth and darkness locking themselves around me once more and dragging me down. My eyes turn back to the yellowy grass and I do not find the same beauty in it that I did before. All I see is dying grass that has been out in the sun for too long and has no one to care for it. The music of the Amity grates at my nerves even more without him there to soften the blow of the noise with his own distaste. I feel my previously lazy, sleepy muscles tensing once more and my spine straightening and my head raising. I follow at the back of the group back to the train and realise, as Eric leads us, he has not called me by the name ‘princess’ for the rest of the trip. He has not even spoken to me, or looked at me.

It should not bother me as much as it does.

* * *

 

Tris stands opposite me in the ring. She is a far cry from the nervous Abnegation girl she was at the beginning of training, but she still will not win. She is not helpless, but she is also no threat. Her expression is determined as she settles into position. Mine is the same, cold, mask I adopt for everything. I take my time tying my hair into a smooth bun and watch her blonde hair sway down her back in a messy ponytail. If I were a dirty fighter like Molly, I could easily lunge and grab those long locks, but I am not Molly. I may not be the most honourable, or moral person here, but I am also not Molly or her friends. I have some principals and one of those is not yanking on a girl’s hair. Still, as I was taught, I catalogue her weaknesses and prepare to guard my own.

She takes my first move. She surprises me by darting in and aiming a punch for my throat. I barely take a few swift steps backwards to avoid her. Her eyes widen as I grab her wrist and wrench her forwards. I twist out of the way and leave her staggering out of the ring. She lands in Four’s arms and blushes. That _is_ an interesting reaction. I also notice the tense expression on Four’s face as he puts her back in the ring and his eyes narrow on me slightly, as though _daring_ me to hurt her. I was Candor. I was meant for Candor. I see things that others normally do not. He likes her and she likes him. It is simple. It is almost sweet, if I were one for romance. However, I am not. I do not care that Four holds affection for her as I dart in before she has properly recovered from her tumble from the ring. Her eyes widen and she raises her arms in a block to cover her face. Instead of my initial move, I use my left fist to punch her in her abdomen and my right to hit her in the side of the head when she doubles over.

A surprise knee to the ribs has me moving back from her range. Tris stares at me determinedly, despite the blood running down her chin. She leaps at me, fist flying for my jaw, and I do not have time to avoid the blow. My head snaps to the side and blood bursts into my mouth. She has split open an old wound on my lower lip. I dodge another hit on a spin on my toes, which I will probably be reprimanded for later, and kick her in the stomach as I right myself. She gasps and doubles over. I do not give her time to recover. I punch her once, twice, and three times in the face and she is down. I step out of the ring when I am sure she is not able to get back up. There is blood gushing from her nose and mouth. I would feel bad, if I were not spitting my own blood out and cleaning my mouth out with water.

“That wasn’t a fair fight,” I hear Four snapping at Eric, once Tris has been cleared from the ring. I cannot stop myself from slowing my movements in putting my shoes and socks back on. “Justice is one of the top ranked initiates and Tris is one of the lowest – it wasn’t fair,” Four continues.

“They’re both midgets,” Eric says ruthlessly. I frown at the description and lace my sneaker with careful, concise movements. “It’s not my fault that the Stiff can’t keep up with the ice queen.”

The name coming from him makes me flinch before I can stop myself. I finish lacing my shoes quickly and leave with an excuse about needing the bathroom when Christina calls after me. I do not know why there is hurt settling in my chest. Eric is always cruel. Eric _enjoys_ being cruel. I know that. I have always known that, since the very first time I met him. What I do not know is why I am feeling hurt. I do not feel hurt when Peter, or Drew, or Molly, or any of the others say that insulting name. I have heard Christina and Al say it a few times, despite her attempts to stop me earlier. They only stop if Will or Tris tell them to, or they see me close enough to hear them. Eric, though, has always called me ‘princess’ and that, too, is an insult, but he never said it with the same sneer as he said ‘ice queen’ with.

Is that what I am to him? To all of them? A cold, unfeeling bitch that only wants to hurt people? I have never _wanted_ to hurt anyone. I just do not want to end up hurt, but I have. Pain is radiating through my cracked chest and making me almost want to _cry_. I have not cried in years. I did not cry when I left. I did not cry for my faction of origin as so many others did. I did not cry when I was beaten by Edward, or by Drew. Now, something as simple as two words makes my eyes itch and my nose burn. I swallow roughly and stride into the deserted dormitory. It is foolish. I will not succumb to it. If they wish me to be an emotionless, icy statue, then I shall be. I will be closed off and cold and emotionless. I will not care about hurting people. I will not hold back. I will be precisely what they want me to be.

Water is splashed onto my face and I tidy myself up, before I go back to the training area. Christina is in the ring with Molly and Four is nowhere to be seen. Eric is supervising. I do not look at him. I go to a punching bag. Tris is working on one with Will and Al either side of her. I take one far away from them and ignore the looks and smirks from Peter, Molly, and Drew. My emotions – my unneeded, unwanted emotions – are poured into the bag. My knuckles split open all over again beneath my already bandaged hands and the blood swiftly soaks them. For once, I do not care. I do not stop to change them. I just keep punching. Pain sparks in my knuckles and hands. It is almost a relief.

“Alright!” Eric suddenly barks. I look over to see him helping Christina up, hand around hers. Something clenches inside of me, but I firmly dismiss it. I turn back to the punching back and start up again. “Let’s everyone take a break!” he announces. _That_ surprises me. He does not believe in breaks. Dauntless do not give up. I do not stop. I do not want to. “That includes you, ice queen,” he snaps.

Peter, Molly, and Drew snigger delightedly at Eric’s use of their little name for me. They are incredibly childish and petty. I do stop, though, and reluctantly follow Eric from the training room when he tells we are going outside for fresh air. It is not the route Four takes us. Eric is up to something. My eyes narrow on the back of his head, but I stay silent. That clenching increases, however, when I see his hand slide over the small of Christina’s exposed back. She is in a sports bra and a pair of cropped leggings. His hand easily covers her slender back. The heel of his hand is at one edge and the tips of his fingers curve around her opposite side. I look away. I do not like how it makes my insides clench. It takes my years of carefully honed control not to frown and just watch Edward’s back as we walk. I think he senses my gaze, because he shivers slightly and puts a protective arm around the tiny Myra.

Suddenly, Christina screams. I look up sharply to discover that Eric has shoved her over the bridge to the chasm. For one, horrible second, I think he has actually killed her, until I realise he is still crouched there with a hand around her wrist. Her other hand is clinging to the metal grating of the bridge. I manage to catch a glimpse of her eyes. They are big and round with fear and disbelief. He makes a speech about how she has two choices. She can hang there until he forgives her transgressions, or she can just give up, but, if she does, she is out. He releases her wrist and her hand clamps onto the metal desperately. The others mutter around me, but I stay silent in the safe middle of the group and watch. It is unnecessarily cruel. This feels like bullying and it is cruel, but I have chosen not to care. I have to not care, because caring hurts too much. I do not believe I can survive anymore pain.

“Come on, Chris!” Tris pipes up from in front of me. Eric glares at her icily and she shudders and silences. She may not like Eric, nor respect him, but she is intimidated by him.

Christina hangs on, despite the moisture on the metal. I see her fingers slipping and react before I can stop myself. I do not even like her, but I drop into a crouch and grab her wrist as her fingers let go and a terrified squeak escapes her. Her weight yanks me down, but, suddenly, Tris is there and Will and Al too. They help me drag her back up onto the bridge. She collapses into her friends’ arms, sobbing and choking. I stand and step back, no longer needed. I may not want emotions anymore, but I cannot stand back and watch someone die. I avert my gaze when her stunned eyes lift to me. I ignore the gasped thanks she offers me. It is not wanted. I do not even listen to Eric’s icy speech about how Dauntless never give up. I know that already. He says it every time someone looks as though they are wavering in the spars.

“Don’t even think about it,” Eric spits when I start to leave. His hand wraps punishingly around my bicep when I continue walking. He jerks me to a stop. My feet slip on the slick metal, but I manage to stay upright, though it is mostly due to the unforgiving grip he has on my arm. I look up at him and I know my expression is cold and blank. I have spent years honing that control, after all. “What the fuck were you doing?” he snaps and waves his free hand jerkily after Christina. “I didn’t say help her!”

“She was falling and I am not willing to watch someone fall to their death in front of me,” I reply. The bland tone of my voice surprises him. I see it flash through his eyes. I think it disconcerts him. “Unless you are willing to take this further, I would appreciate it if you let me go,” I state and he practically shoves me away from him.

It takes me a second to regain my balance. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters darkly. That hurt radiates through my chest again. It sinks into the cracks already present and pushes them wider and lets more spider web out from them. I try to ignore it. It is not as easy I would like it to be. It is almost difficult to breathe. I force my lungs to work and decide to avoid the dormitory for now. I am sweaty and rumpled from training, but no one gives me a second glance as I lose myself in the Pit. I am lost in the crowds, though people do take care not to jostle me and some give me second looks. I keep my eyes ahead of me and find myself outside of a tattoo parlour.

I am not even entirely sure I want to do this, but I go inside to find a large, bearded man tattooing a lithe, lean girl with a shaved head. A blonde girl and a boy with dark hair are sat on a couch, definitely flirting. I ignore them and head to the designs on glass panels on a rotating rack. My eyes rake over the masculine designs and swiftly dismiss them. I linger on a caged bird, before I dismiss that one too. There are not many feminine designs. I stop on the picture of a woman’s face. Her head is wreathed in flames, like a crown, and her eyes a deep coal black. She smiles wickedly, but I do not want that. I want an ice queen. I want what they deem me to be etched into my skin so that I never forget who I am supposed to be. I shall have to ask if the tattoo artist can do that.

“Decided what you want, kid?” a deep, gruff voice asks. I almost jump, but do not. I turn to find the burly man approaching, while the other customers stumble out of the parlour with laughs. “That’s a pretty nice one,” he nods when he sees me looking down at the fire queen.

“I want ice,” I say bluntly. His eyebrows raise in surprise and he looks down at me with renewed interest. “I would like an ice queen, instead of a fire queen,” I elaborate and he gives a slow nod.

“Okay, kid, let’s get that drawn up for you,” he agrees and ushers me into a chair that reminds me of the one that I took my Aptitude Test in. He uses the fire queen as a base, but changes the flames to ice and her expression becomes haughty and cold. “You mind if I ask why?” he asks and I glance at him. “Feel free to keep up the silent act, kid, but I gotta admit that I’m curious,” he shrugs.

Suddenly, I am sick of being called by anything but my name. “My name is Justice,” I state firmly. He gives a small nod and continues to work. “My fellow initiates believe that ‘ice queen’ is a fitting nickname,” I find myself saying. It must be the Candor in me. “I have decided to embrace it, rather than allow them to attempt to use it as a weapon against me.”

“Fair enough, Justice,” the man nods. He glances up at me with what could be perceived as a friendly grin on his bearded face. “I’m Bud.”

“Pleasure,” I murmur quietly with a small nod of acknowledgement.

Bud nods back and whistles through his teeth as he sketches. He does not know that I am lying. He does not know that I am not embracing the identity the others have forced upon me. He does not know that I am branding myself. It is some sick form of punishment. I know it and it makes me feel mildly nauseous, even if the design he draws up is beautiful. I let him press the design into the flesh over my bicep and do not flinch when the needle presses into my skin. He uses inks in various shades of blue to make up the queen’s harsh countenance. It does hurt, but I do not let it show. The loneliness hurts worse. The hollow ache that has been inside of me for years, but now suddenly throbs with new intensity hurts far worse than the tattoo needle gliding through my flesh. I just stare at the ceiling and pretend that there is not a hard lump in my throat that is threatening to obstruct my breathing.

It takes hours to complete the tattoo. People even come in and watch it being done whilst they wait for Bud to be free. He does not look up from his work. He does not even acknowledge them. He focuses solely on the tattoo. I am grateful for that. I do not pay attention to the unfamiliar Dauntless – both men – standing behind him and watching the tattoo take shape. Something that reminds me of approval touches their eyes and they grin. They are about Eric’s age. I do not know why I notice that. They are smaller than he is and nowhere near as muscled, but it obvious the shorter one is trying. I try not to pay them much attention, even when the taller one attempts to catch my eye. I just want to be left alone. I am better off alone. The loneliness _aches_ , but it is better than the radiating agony that spreads through my chest when people I foolishly let in leave me. They always leave in the end.

“There you go, Justice,” Bud says with a proud grin on his face. I ease myself up and look down at my tattoo with something like awe. He has made her beautiful. She is harsh and severe, but she is beautiful. Ice hangs from her like a crown and mist shrouds her. Her dark hair swirls around her face in the hint of untameable power and her dark eyes are cold. It is only her face, but it takes up the upper portion of my bicep and partly curves onto my shoulder and towards my chest. “What do you think?” Bud asks expectantly and I meet his eyes.

“It is perfect,” I promise with a small nod. He grins a bit wider at that. “Thank you,” I add sincerely and watch him wrap my arm. “How do I make sure it does not become infected?”

“Wash it with soapy, warm water and put some cream on it,” Bud answers and leads me over to the counter, where he takes a bit of blood to access my account to take points. “You apply this every six hours,” he says and hands me a small tube of white cream. “It stops the skin from drying out while it heals and, since yours is big and has a lot of ink worked in there, it’s going to take a while,” he explains. He keeps his eyes on mine to make sure I understand. I do. I nod to show that I do. “If you run out of that cream and think you need some more, just come back and ask me for more, okay? If I’m not here, just ask the woman – Tori.”

“I will,” I assure and roll my aching shoulders. “It will not affect my training, will it?”

Bud laughs at that and shakes his head. “No, Justice, you’ll be fine,” he says. “You didn’t flinch once during that, didn’t make a peep, so I guess you’re tougher than you look, huh?”

“I look weak?” I demand and he throws his head back and _really_ laughs.

“Far from it, Justice,” he grins. “You could probably freeze a river with that look of yours.”

“Right? I thought only Eric could pull off that amount of sheer disapproval,” one of the other men says gleefully and tosses an arm around my shoulders. I immediately shrug him off and send him an unimpressed look. “Aw, come on, baby, we could have fun,” he winks.

“I very much doubt that,” I retort coldly and face the chuckling Bud once more. “Thank you for your time, Bud,” I say quietly and leave before anyone can stop me.

My arm throbs and I want nothing more than a shower, but it is dinner time and my stomach knows that it is. I am feeling slightly dizzy, no doubt from being tattooed without any proper food in my system. I have not eaten since lunchtime. As a result, I decide to go to the dining area. It is already packed, but I easily weave through the crowds and get myself a plate of pasta and some chocolate cake. It is the last slice. I do not particularly care about the grumbling that comes from behind me. I go to my usual table near the exit where Christina is sitting with her friends. I do not sit close enough for them to pull me into conversation. I perch at the edge of the table and eat as quickly as my manners will allow me to do so. The food is washed down with water, including the mouth-watering Dauntless cake.

I hear the others at the table whispering about my tattoo, but I do not acknowledge them. I merely finish my food and leave. My flesh throbs where the ink now stains my skin. There is no changing what I have done to myself. I have made myself what they see me as. There is no reversing this. I just have to readjust my insides to match my outsides. I must be as cold and emotionless as they all depict me as. I am empty space. I am nothing. I wanted them to mould me into something new and they have decided that I am supposed to be what I was in Candor: alone and cold with heavy weights around my throat. My fingers stroke the flesh of my neck before I can stop them. I almost expect to find shackles there instead of soft skin. I expect to wake up one day and find the truths have solidified and become something tangible. They have such a physical effect that it is feels odd not to have the visible proof of them. One day, I would not be surprised if I merely disappeared.

 

* * *

 

When Peter sees my body art, his face pinches and he looks angry. It is mildly surprising and oddly satisfying to see that my small act has rattled him at little. I sweep my long hair into its usual bun and keep my expression blank as I begin work on a punching bag. It does not matter what he thinks. He is unimportant and he always will be. In the end, what difference will any of us make? According to Eric, we are all insignificant little bugs. I shake the thought of Eric off dismissively and bring a knee up into the orange leather of the punching bag. My body spins on one foot and uses the opposite leg to kick the bag. A few swift jabs, focusing on my left to help strengthen my less dominant hand. I half-notice Tris setting up on my left, as I am on the end of the row, as far away from our trainers as possible.

“Okay!” Four calls. We all stop and look at him, confused. Normally, Eric calls us into the ring for matches, but he stands silently beside Four. They stood by a table covered in small knives. Eric is turning one between his pointer fingers. “Today, we’ll be learning to throw knives,” Four announces.

We all gather closer. Some are excited. Others are cautious. I do not care either way. We watch his demonstration and listen to his instructions and then we are thrown in to practice. I end up with Al on one side and Myra on the other with five knives in my hands and I mimic Four’s stance. My feet are shoulder width apart. My upper body is loose. My eyes are on the target. I know I have the aim. I was chosen for sniper training, after all. The question is, can I throw as straight as I can shoot? Shooting is different from knife throwing. My lips pinch together in concentration and I focus my eyes on the centre of the target. I can do this. I have to do this. I bring my arm back and throw the knife.

It hits the edge of the target. My lips press into a thinner line of disapproval. I roll my wrist and try to assess where I went wrong. I am stood like Four was. I am focused on my target. I am throwing with the correct force to reach the target. I am aiming for the centre. Why am I not hitting it? I test the weight of the next blade in my hand and throw again. It smacks against the outer ring of the torso and clatters to the ground. I frown when another knife that does not belong to me hits the corner of my target. I turn my head sharply to find Al staring in dismay at the knife in my section. At least he did not do it on purpose. I face the target once more and throw another knife forwards. Somehow, it turns in the air and the hilt of the blade hits the edge of the head.

“Pathetic,” Eric’s voice sneers from behind me.

“At least I am hitting my own target,” I respond before I can stop myself. To prove my point, Al, once again, hits my target. He is stood beside me and must hear my words, because he flinches in shame and bites his bottom lip.

“True,” Eric allows. I glance at him to find his eyes on Al with a sneer on his lips. “I stand corrected – _that_ was pathetic,” he says to me and jerks his chin at Al. “Go pick it up,” Eric orders and I lower my arm to allow him to fetch the knife without weapons flying at him. “I didn’t say stop, ice queen,” Eric snaps.

“You want me to get it while there are knives flying around?” Al demands. There is a strain of fear in his voice and it is obvious. Foolish boy. Eric will pounce on it like a cat on a mouse.

“Are you scared?” Eric challenges immediately. Al is tall, but Eric still towers over him and is broader than he is with more muscle.

“Of being hit with an airborne knife?” Al spits. Idiot. Just be quiet and Eric might let you walk away from this with minimal injuries. “Yeah!” he answers his own question. He has sealed his own fate.

My feet carry me towards the target before I can stop them. I feel a knife whizz past me. It almost hits me, but I manage not to flinch. I pick up the knives in front of the target and go back to the others. “Here,” I say and hand two knives to Al. “These are yours.”

“Stop!” Eric barks. I frown at him sharply. His eyes are dancing again. That is never good. My fingers tighten around the knives in my hands and my eyes focus on him warily. “Get in front of the target,” he commands me. “ _Now_ ,” he insists. He gives me a sharp shove and the knives clatter to the ground. I obey. I stand in front of the target and my head barely reaches the shoulder. “You’re going to stand there while Four throws knives at you,” he tells me in a deceptively silken voice. “If you flinch, you’re out.”

Four frowns, but picks up the knives I had dropped. He flips one in his hand and glances at Eric, as though waiting for him to change his mind. Foolish man. Eric does not change his mind. That would imply he is flexible and wavers. He must stick to his decisions and see them through. I press my hands against my legs to keep them steady and meet Eric’s gaze, rather than Four’s. He is doing this to me. I half-wonder why, but then the first knife sinks into the target just a few inches from my head and my eyes fly to it. My heart leaps into my throat and my fingers jerk against my legs. I am not afraid. I cannot be afraid. My hands press a little firmer against my thighs and I turn my gaze back to Eric’s. His expression is disturbingly blank. Four lifts his hand to throw the second knife.

“Stop!”

It is Tris. I stare at her, surprised, and so does everyone else.

“Anyone can stand in front of a target,” she continues. Her voice sounds tight. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Then you won’t mind taking her place,” Eric challenges smoothly. Tris glares at him hatefully and then strides forwards purposefully. “Let’s go, ice queen, looks like you’re getting off easy,” he calls and waves me forwards with a wicked smirk on his face.

“You do not have to do this,” I frown at Tris when I pass her. “I am perfectly capable –”

“I know,” Tris interrupts. “And so am I.”

Our eyes meet and I give a small nod and leave her to do what she feels she has to. I let my gaze flicker up to Eric, but he is watching Tris greedily. She is even smaller than I am. This is not right. This is bullying and bullying is a form of cowardice. My lips press together and I force myself to watch. I force myself to watch the tiny blonde endure knives being thrown at her in my stead, because I was stupid enough to step in when he was taunting Al. I should be able to cast those impulses aside. The ice queen does nothing to help anyone, especially not saunter through a target area. I had never been able to stand back while another was being hurt, though. I had spent the majority of my life protecting the boy that used to trot around after me everywhere.

My mind screeches to a halt and I force that thought away viciously. No. We do not think about him. I look down to wrench everything back into place without anyone noticing my momentary lapse. People see what they expect to see and no one expects me to have any actual feelings. I have shut off any attachments and extreme emotions. I did so almost three years ago. I will continue to do so. It is all I can do, even if it makes my chest hurt. That will fade soon enough. It did before. Dauntless just opened up parts of me I had previously shut down. All I have to do is figure out a way to shut them again and never let them reopen. It is better that way. It is better for everyone.

Tris endures the knives. I knew she would. Four does nick her ear, however. It is only a small amount of blood, but it is enough to satisfy Eric. “Points of bravery, Stiff,” he sneers. His eyes are not on her. His eyes are on me. “But, not as much as you just lost for opening your mouth,” he adds scathingly. She cuts him a hateful look, but there is a sheen of tears making her eyes shine. “You,” he spits and jabs a finger at me. “You’re coming with me.”

Reluctantly, I follow him as he strides from the room. The initiates scatter and let him through first and I trot after him obediently. I keep a safe distance and watch him carefully for any sign that this may turn physical, which would not surprise me. He does not seem to be able to use his words very well. He much prefers intimidating people with his immense size and physical strength. I wait for a sign that he is going to strike me. I watch for the things Four has taught me, but none of it comes. I do not see any tension forming in his muscles. I do not see him preparing to turn. I do not see him readying to grab me in any way. It is more worrying than if he did have me by the throat. I do not know what he is planning and it is concerning.

He does spin abruptly. I am expecting it and attempt to leap back out of his reach, but he follows me doggedly and his fingers lock around my throat. I kick out at him, but he slams me back into a wall and my head knocks against the stone painfully. He pins my body in place with his own and his thumb pushes forcefully against the underside of my chin. He propels my head back roughly and his mouth crushes against mine. My eyes widen in shock and my body attempts to reel back, but I am firmly held in place and have no escape. His teeth bite down on my bottom lip when I refuse his tongue access. My lip bleeds at the force and his tongue forces its way into my protesting mouth. His hand is at my rear, dragging my lower half flat against his, and the hand at my neck twists around and holds the base of my skull.

“Don’t _ever_ do that again,” Eric hisses against my mouth. I try to escape, but he drags me into him once more and I cannot get out. His hand squeezes my bottom almost painfully and the other hand yanks at the elastic in my hair. He manages to get it free and shoves his hand into my hair. He twists the tendrils around his fingers too tightly and _pulls_. I gasp and find myself clinging to him with weak knees. “Don’t put yourself in danger like that _ever_ again,” he growls.

Breathless and panting, I only nod wordlessly and moan when his mouth collides with mine once more. My fingers lock around the back of his neck before I can stop them and I wrench him closer, so close I cannot breathe. I bite his bottom lip, just like he had done to me, and strain up onto my tiptoes to reach his lips easier. He retaliates to the bite with an almost painful squeeze to my bum, but my body arches into the touch and I enjoy it a little. I should not. I should not let him in like this. I should be pushing him away. It is what the ice queen would do. I do not want to be that person. I shut my eyes tighter and wrap my fingers into his jacket at the shoulders with a white knuckled grip. I kiss him harder, despite the blood on both of our lips from our vicious bites. We break apart for air. We drag the oxygen in greedily and my hands flatten against the broad muscle of his shoulders.

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper and open my eyes to look up into his face.

Eric lets out a harsh, breathless. “Fuck if I know,” he retorts and untangles his hand from my hair to cup my cheek. His thumb rubs over my swollen, bloodied bottom lip. “Part of me wants to break you,” he admits and presses his thumb into the wound in my lip to prove his point. “But, _I_ want to be the one that breaks you – no one else.”

I want to say something about how I am already broken, but the words will not leave. To admit that out loud would cause me to shatter completely. I cannot allow that to happen. I have to keep what tenuous control that I do have left. So, instead, I kiss him again. I should not. I want to. It has been so long since I have done something I have truly wanted. To want is to feel too much and I have not felt anything deeper than neutrality in years. Now, all I want is to kiss him and feel him against me and taste him. He leans into the kiss eagerly, hungrily, and fastens his lips firmly against my own. His fingers wrap back into my loose tendrils, both hands grasping at the long locks of hair. He tilts my head back sharply and sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. His tongue strokes soothingly over the split in my lip and I let out shuddering, shivery moan that is muffled by his lips.

“Fuck,” Eric groans. He breaks away and stares down at me with eyes that are dark with lust, his pupils blown and almost overtaking the iris. “I’ve got a meeting in Erudite,” he scowls. I feel an odd, bubbling sensation in my belly and it takes me a few moments to recognise it as laughter. “Try not to get into trouble, princess.”

“What happened to ‘ice queen’?” I find myself asking before I can stop myself. My voice is blank and dull, despite what we have just done.

Eric laughs lowly and strokes his fingers over my cheekbone. “I just melted the ice queen,” he smirks smugly, as though it just some big game. It probably is to him. I am just a game. It hurts more than I should allow it to.

I slap him. It shocks him. It can be the only reason that it was ever allowed to happen. “Go _fuck_ yourself, Eric,” I spit and wrench free from him. A hand grabs my arm and I swing around to shove him away. “Just leave me alone!” I snap. “I am _done_ playing your damned games!”

“I don’t have time for this bullshit,” Eric hisses down at me. His hands latch around my biceps. “You think this is some fucking game? Because I’m not going to go chasing after you,” he snarls. His eyes are dark with anger now, rather than lust. “I’m tired of you, _ice queen_ ,” he sneers and his fingers bite into my flesh. He is going to leave terrible bruises. “I’m tired of trying to understand what the hell is going on in your head, hell, part of me thinks there’s _nothing_ going on in there, but you manage to convince everyone differently,” he continues ruthlessly and gives me a sharp shake. “What _are_ you thinking? What exactly goes on behind that ice, huh?”

“I just try to forget,” I find myself whispering. He frowns so sharply it is almost a scowl. I shudder slightly and try to get free. “Eric, I never asked for this.”

“Neither did I,” he hisses and pushes his mouth back onto mine. I cannot stop a moan from slipping free. He hauls me against him and his hands leave to travel to my neck and hip. One of my hands slides around the back of his neck, while the other grips the front of his sleeveless jacket. My body arches up onto its tiptoes and my lips part to let his tongue take control of my mouth. My knees feel weak and it feels as though fire is engulfing me from the inside out. My core tightens and my skin tingles, especially where his hands grip me possessively. “I have that meeting,” he mumbles, but swiftly takes ownership of my mouth once more. I sigh breathily against his lips and my nails scrape across the back of his neck gently. His hips jerk into mine and I feel his erection pressing against my lower belly. “We’re going to sort this out later,” he groans and pulls back, shaking his head slightly.

“Okay,” I agree dazedly.

My arms fall to my sides and Eric adjusts his pants, before he strides away and I see him swipe at his bleeding bottom lip. I wipe the blood away from my own lip and make my way back to the dormitory. My hair falls loose down to the middle of my back. I have no idea where the elastic went. Eric threw it somewhere. My lips are probably puffy and bruised to go with the cut he’d reopened in the lower. I attempt to tidy my hair, but to no avail. It will need a good brush before it looks presentable again. I still run my fingers through it in an attempt to make it look less tousled and make me look less…ravished. There is little I can do for the way my lips are swollen and bitten and thoroughly kissed. They will know. Everyone that sees me will know. I have to tell myself not to care.

Peter, Molly, Drew, Edward, and Myra are the only ones in the dorm and Edward and Peter are glowering at each other across the room. They all look at me, however, when I enter. Peter’s eyes light up and his expression grows dangerous. He finally has a new target. I meet his gaze challengingly and refuse to back down. He can say what he likes, but I have no need to cower or hide. Yes, I have kissed Eric. Yes, I have thought of going further. Yes, I was kissing Eric no more than ten minutes ago. There is little he can say that will make me feel bad about myself. I am not kissing Eric in an attempt to raise my rank. I have earned my place in Dauntless so far. He is nothing but a bully and I will not bow to him.

“Been busy, queenie?” Peter asks mockingly. I give him a flat, unimpressed look and get a new elastic and my hairbrush from my stash beneath my bed. I go into the bathroom and Peter follows. I do not acknowledge him. I pull the hairbrush through my hair and pull it back into a sleek ponytail. Peter lounges behind me, leaning against the side of a shower stall. Childishly, I hope it is wet. “So, you and Eric, huh? Looked like he was trying to eat your face,” he say faux-casually. I do not falter. Part of me wants to, but I do not. My hands stay steady as they guide my hair up and make sure any and all strands are neatly smoothed away. “I mean, is that even allowed? Are you supposed to be fucking a leader? Is that against the rules or something?” he continues, baiting me for a response that I am never going to give. “I think it is, queenie, maybe you shouldn’t almost fuck him in corridors.”

I finish my hair and start washing my hands. Peter’s teeth grind audibly behind me.

“Is it just Eric? Or are you screwing all of the leaders? And Four too?” Peter attempts to provoke me. I dry my hands and wait for him to get to the point. “Is that why Eric calls you princess? Because you’re the leaders’ cock sucking princess?” he spits out viciously. His face is twisting in anger and his colour is rising. “Is that why you’re the third ranking transfer? Because they keep putting you against easy opponents so you won’t drop in the ranks and become factionless?”

I walk past him and leave to get dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small Warning: Description of female masturbation.  
> Small Warning: Description of the sudden death of a loved one.

Tris is knocked unconscious in training the next day. Peter annihilates her with little to no effort. It is a bloodbath and I can hardly stand to watch. I stand beside Eric and give him a disapproving look that he pointedly ignores. If anyone should be in there for standing up to him, being punished for speaking out, it is me and he knows it, which is why he is refusing to meet my gaze. I watch the medics carry Tris off and Eric looks over the other initiates. He is looking for another match, one that will entertain him more. He had best not pick me. The skin over my knuckles has not repaired itself since my first day here – two weeks ago. I meet his gaze and raise one eyebrow in silent question.

“Christina, Justice, in the ring,” Eric announces. My eyes narrow slightly, but I perch on the edge of the ring and begin removing my shoes and socks. It will not be an easy win, but I can win. Christina and I are probably on par with one another, but I beat Molly and she did not. I have that over her. “Come on, princess,” Eric urges and taps the back of my neck with two fingers as I bend my head to peel my socks off. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Do we not? Do you have plans?” I ask absently and tuck my socks into my shoes. I stand and release my ponytail, only to sweep my hair back into a bun.

“Why?” Eric smirks. “Interested in spending time with me?”

I respond to that with a roll of my eyes and step into the ring. Christina is already there and I lunge for her the second Eric calls for the match to start. She holds her ground and lashes out with a punch that almost catches me in the side of the face, but I manage to twist out of the way and slam my own fist into her stomach in the same movement. She gasps, doubling over, and attempts to recover valiantly. Her elbow hits me in the side and I bring my knee up into her chest. My fist slams into the side of her head and she hits the ground with a loud, pained yelp. Her body slams into the mat with a loud smack and she winds an arm around her middle. The main difference between Christina and myself is that I get up straight after a hit, but she does not. She lingers in the pain. I brush it off and push myself forwards.

Christina struggles to rise, coughing still, and her hands shake slightly as she pushes herself up and faces me once more. Blood gushes from a cut beneath her eye. I had not realised that I had hit her that hard. My knuckles are split beneath their bandages. They will bleed more soon. I aim a punch for her face, but she deflects it and elbows me in the chest. I am winded and move back as quickly as I can to regain my bearings, but she follows. Dammit. I grit my teeth and try to ignore how my chest is seizing. I have always been stubborn. It drove my mother to insanity when I was small. I would not give up until I had what I wanted, whether it be new clothes or the last slice of pie for dessert. I will succeed because I am stubborn.

I can scarcely breathe, however, and my breath comes in short, shallow gasps, even as I attempt to regain control of myself. I duck beneath Christina’s small fist and my chest gives a spasm and forces me to cough harshly. It gives her the opportunity to slam her fist into my ribs and leave me gasping. I slam my teeth together and kick her as hard as I possibly can in her midsection. She staggers backwards, arm wrapped around her middle, and gasps with pain. My lungs are tight and refuse to obey me properly, but I force myself to follow up with a swift uppercut into the underside of her jaw. Her head snaps backwards and blood sprays and her body crashes back into the mat. This time, she does not rise again. Her eyes are half-lidded and hazy and blood runs down her face.

“Winner – Justice,” Eric announces and sounds almost smug. I can finally cough and let my lungs regain the ability to breathe. I rub my bruising chest and sit on the edge of the ring to pull my shoes and socks back on, despite how bending like I am hurts my aching torso. “We’re done for the day,” Eric announces imperiously with a lazy wave of his large hand.

The other initiates breathe sighs of relief and make their exits (Christina supported by her friends) as I stand and pull my hair free. As I begin to sweep it back up into my usual, sleek ponytail, Eric’s fingers reach out and snag a lock. My body tenses slightly, but I do not pull back from him. He slowly curls the piece of hair around his index finger and his eyes lock onto mine. I feel like I am drowning. I am losing my battle for control. His hand slips around the back of my neck with that lock of hair still wrapped around his finger. He tugs me closer with surprising gentleness and I know I should stop him, because we _are_ in the middle of the training room and I should not be melting against his chest. I should not be letting him do this. I should not be anticipating the feel of his mouth on mine. His breath strokes over my lips and I can all but feel his lips in its stead. His fingers stroke down the side of my neck and my breath leaves in a slow, shivery, silent gasp.

My hair tumbles down and hangs heavy around me. I never wear my hair down. It is too uncontrolled and messy and reminds me of my childhood. The way Eric’s hand delves into the mass feels…nice, however. The thick locks tangle themselves around his fingers and ensnare him. A part of me wants to push closer to him, while another part of me (the smarter part) insists that I pull away and put as much distance between us as possible. He will never allow that. Not again. Not after what happened at the fence and not after what happened after training yesterday. He claimed me. He never did find me after his apparent meeting with Erudite, but he still claimed me. He is claiming me even now. I should not allow it, but I do. I am foolish that way. I am a fool for letting this continue. I am a fool for letting it start, but, despite all of that, I want him to kiss me and to claim me and to brand me as his.

“I like your hair,” Eric says far too casually. He strokes the side of thumb down my neck and my skin prickles where he makes contact. “You shouldn’t wear it up all the time.”

“It gets in the way,” I reply in a voice that is far calmer than I feel.  “You are the one that told me to cut it, if you remember,” I point out and he smirks.

“That was before,” he responds. His voice is lower now. I am not entirely sure, but I believe that he is attempting to seduce me. His fingers are stroking over my waist and through my hair and over my neck. It feels as though he is everywhere all at once. I am surrounded by him. “I prefer it down,” he informs me and wraps both hands into my loose hair. I gasp and have no choice but move closer to him, lest my hair be ripped out of my scalp. I should not have anticipation heating my stomach. I definitely should not have a sudden, momentary flash of us naked in a bed, my body on top of his, with his hands wrapped into my hair, pulling until it almost hurts, and his lips on my throat. That thought threatens to send me reeling back, but his hands tighten and he wrenches me into a burning kiss, almost as though he has sensed my entirely inappropriate thought. “I want you,” he growls against my mouth. I can only moan and pull myself closer to him. “I want to be inside of you so – fucking – badly,” he enunciates the last three words and fists his hands into my hair.

“Eric,” I mumble, but I am not entirely sure whether it is in protest or not, because those words send heat rushing through my veins and something in the pit of my stomach tightens until it almost hurts. His closeness will ease it. That is all I know. “I am not going to have sex with you,” I find myself saying firmly. I sound far more confident than I feel, especially when I know it will more than likely cause an explosion.

Instead, Eric laughs lowly and his hands curve around the sides of my neck. His calloused and rough palms and fingers should not feel so good on my flesh. His lips are on my own once more. It is unusually tender and gentle. It is another attempt to seduce me. I should not let it happen. I should not want him, but I do. I want the things he makes me feel. I am so incredibly selfish. I am using his kisses to forget my darkness and to chase away the bad memories. I am leading him on. He believes that these kisses are going somewhere. He believes that I am going to end up in his bed and be his in every way. As soon as he is done, I will be thrown away. He probably does this with an initiate every single year. The thought should not make anger and sadness swoop together in my stomach like a nauseating cocktail. I press closer to him to banish the thoughts and taste him better. He tastes like coffee.

“You will,” Eric murmurs confidently and slants his mouth over mine. I return the kiss, but he pulls away before it becomes anything deep or meaningful. “Maybe not today, probably not even tomorrow, but you will,” he promises and I moan softly when his fingers glide down my neck, over my collarbone, skim the side of my breast, and come to rest on the curve of my hip. It is the barest touch, but it leaves my skin tingling with need and my heart racing. “You’ll beg for me,” he tells me and sucks gently on my bottom lip.

“Eric,” I say again, a helpless note touching my voice. No. I cannot break. I cannot. “What do you want from me? Is this just about sex?” I blurt out and I sound defensive and sharp, like I usually do. I do not sound like the weak girl looking for something to take the loneliness away. “Is it?”

“I don’t know,” Eric shrugs. His arm wraps tight around my waist to stop me from escaping. “I want you, princess, and I don’t want anyone else to have you,” he tells me seriously. “Maybe if I fuck you, I’ll stop wanting you, but, right now, all I want is you under me, on top of me, _whatever_ , just as long as I’m inside of you and you’re screaming my fucking name.”

Again, those kinds of words make heat flood my body and my gut pinch and clench in a pleasurable sort of way. “You should not want me, Eric,” I still protest. He sighs and he is beginning to get impatient. “Everyone says that you are only keeping me here because I am your whore,” I tell him, frowning. “Along with Four’s and the other leaders’.”

“What?” Eric’s voice is icy cold now and his fingers flex possessively around my waist. “You’re _mine_ ,” he growls darkly and brands me with a hard kiss that leaves me breathless and weak kneed. My hands wrap tightly into the front of his sleeveless jacket and my body falls into his arms willingly. God, he is going to kill me. I moan, but the sound is muffled by his demanding lips and he does not seem to care. All he seems to care about is pushing his tongue into my mouth and making sure that all I can focus on is him. His mouth. His hands. His body. His taste. His smell. “Mine,” he repeats against my mouth and bites my bottom lip sharply.

“I am not a possession, Eric,” I point out and my voice shakes slightly. I am too caught up in him to think properly. My argument is automatic. “I belong to myself.”

“No,” Eric smirks smugly and pointedly palms my right buttock. I attempt to escape, but he jerks me sharply against him and holds me there. “You belong to me,” he informs me and kisses me before I can continue arguing with him.

My fingers curve around the back of his neck and I return the kiss happily. He does wonderful things to my body. He makes me tingle and my toes curl and heat swirl through me in an intoxicating wave. I arch into him. I should not be doing this. He makes me not care about what I should be doing. I push my tongue against his and feel his hand delve back into my hair. Why does he like my hair so much? When he tightens his hand in my hair and tugs a little, I do not care so much. It hurts slightly, but it feels good. I moan into the kiss and one of my hands runs down his chest before I can stop. It smooths over the solidness of his strong muscles and heat shoots between my thighs, which clench together to ease the throbbing there. He is so powerful and strong and _masculine_. His knee slips between my legs, forcing my thighs apart, and he puts the slightest amount of pressure against my core.

Fuck.

“Eric,” I whisper breathlessly, unable to say another word. All that matters is _him_. I can feel his erection against my abdomen. I can taste his urgency in his kiss. He wants me. It sends a thrill racing through me. No one has ever wanted me like this. No one has ever made me feel this way. His hand slips from my bottom to my thigh and he pulls my leg up and around his hip, before his hand goes back to my bum. My hips rock into his before I can stop them. It is an instinctual response. He groans and the sound makes me whimper and kiss him hard. “Eric,” I say again. This time my voice is slightly louder, a little more urgent, almost desperate, and my body presses flat against his. “We – we should stop,” I mumble while I still have some sort of control of myself.

“Yeah,” Eric agrees, even as our kisses continue and get harder and hotter. “We probably should.”

We do not, but we should do. We should have never started. His hands go beneath my shirt and my body arches into his touch. His fingers are cold on my heated skin, but it feels so _amazing_. My head tilts back and his lips find the exposed skin of my throat. Helpless, I clutch at his t-shirt and let his hand cup my breast over my bra. I have to put both feet back on the floor, or I would not be able to stand, despite his grip. That, unfortunately, breaks the contact between our lower halves. He hisses in protest and nips sharply at my neck in punishment. It does not feel like much of a punishment. I whimper and squirm against him. He is breaking me in all the best ways. His fingers skim over my waistband and I have enough of myself left to grab that hand and push it away from there. It makes me nervous and, like he said, not today.

“I have to go,” I insist in a slightly trembling voice. I manage to get enough control of myself to pull away from him. I do have to press my thighs together, however. He notices. I know he does. He surprises me by not saying anything. Perhaps it is because he has to adjust his pants and, even then, the bulge is quite noticeable. I gulp slightly and force my eyes away from him. “We – this – this cannot keep happening,” I say and take a few steps back for safety.

“And I told you I’m not going to chase you,” Eric snaps and tugs at the crotch of his pants again. I am beginning to think that our bickering arouses him as much as our kisses do. “I want you, but I can get sex _way_ easier somewhere else, princess.”

“Then why are you so interested in me?” I frown, confused. “I do not feel inclined to give up my virginity to someone that just wants to prove a point, or whatever it is you are doing.”

“Virginity?”

Perhaps I should not have said that. Eric’s eyes are dancing again and his pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. That desire burns deeper in his eyes. I am not foolish, not usually anyway. He sees me as something to possess and claim as his own. He would be angry if someone attempted to instigate a relationship, or sexual intimacies, with me, but I do not think he would be truly upset if anything happened to me. If I fail initiation, he may be disappointed that he did not get what he wanted, but, within a few weeks, he would probably just shrug his shoulders and say ‘who?’ if I was ever brought up in conversation. Perhaps I intrigue him. I have no idea what goes on inside of his brain. He is difficult to read. I do not usually find people so impossible to decipher, but I never quite know what he is going to do and I most certainly do not understand his reasons for… _anything_.

“You’re my little virgin princess,” he taunts, grabbing my waist before I can make my escape. I gasp as my body crashes into his. “I should’ve known,” he smirks and his thumb strokes over my cheek, while his fingers tangle into my hair. I am sure I just escaped this position. I cannot entirely recall _how_ he managed to ensnare me once more. I hate that a far too large part of me does not wholly mind. “I want you,” he tells me seriously, eyes fixed on mine.

“No one wants me, Eric,” I deny. I sound vulnerable and pathetic. I immediately attempt to retreat and lower my eyes from his. He holds me tighter and wraps his arm tightly around my middle to stop me from escaping him. “Let go.”

“No, not this time,” he says with just a touch of impatience. He frowns down at me and gives my hair a small tug. “Stop thinking whatever it is you’re thinking, okay, princess? Because I’m not going to pander to your ego or whatever and I’m only ever going to say this once,” he tells me sternly and pulls my head back so I have no choice but to look him in the eye. “You’re gorgeous and I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

He has wanted to have sex with me. He wants my body. He does not want _me_. I do not argue, however. It would only make things more complicated and I have no desire to make him angry. Besides, I have spent years feeling alone and unwanted and ostracised and it is nice to be desired, even if it is in a purely physical sense. So, I let him kiss me. It is hard and he gives me no control whatsoever. I have no way to push back against him. I let him take complete control of me and it scares me, giving up control, especially to someone like him, but the need to feel wanted wins against my usually iron grip of control. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to lie to myself. I try to tell myself that he wants _me_. I try to tell myself that he wants Justice Stephenson in deeper terms than lust. I am not asking for love. I do not believe myself capable of an emotion that strong anymore, but I would appreciate it if I was _liked_ for who I am, even though I am not a very likeable person.

I just want to feel _needed_ , if only for a little while. It is dangerous. I force myself away from his mouth and his hands and mumble something about needing to leave. He lets me go. I wonder how long he will keep doing this. Will he eventually dismiss me if I do not give into his wishes? Or is he the stubborn sort that refuses to give up when he has his mind set on a target? I cannot stop myself from looking over my shoulder at him. He is watching me leave. He is adjusting his pants and watching me walk away from him. His expression is inscrutable. I do not know how angry he is by my walking away from him. I do it often. He lets me, but he will not let me for long. He will get impatient and will demand things I will probably give him, if only to serve my pathetic desperation to feel wanted, desired, and needed. Perhaps I am that transparent to him. Perhaps it is why he is pursuing me so determinedly.

My hands are shaking when I enter the dormitory and I am incredibly grateful that it is empty. I do not go for dinner. I am hungry, but I do not want to face anyone. I just want to try and regain control over myself. I want to not want Eric. I want things to be easy, but they have not been for years. A sigh flutters past my lips as I pick up my pyjamas and go into the bathroom. A shower might help, especially if there is no one else around. I still drape a towel across the front of the stall, however, and relax into the minimal privacy that it provides. I stand beneath the lukewarm spray of water, naked, and try not to think about the wetness between my thighs that has nothing to do with the shower. Eric has brought this out of me and I close my eyes tightly. I press my thighs together in a hope of relieving the ache there, but it does not work. My teeth find the inside of my cheek and my fingers tremble as they slide down my stomach, through the nest of curls at my groin, and sink into my body.

I have never done this before. I am not entirely sure what I am doing, but I stroke and rub and thrust and find myself panting and gasping. I keep myself almost silent. I alternate the speed of my fingers. I go slow and then go so fast it hurts my wrist. I rub my thumb around my clitoris and curl my fingers up inside of my untouched body. A strained, tight gasp escapes me and I silence it by biting the inside of my cheek. My hips jerk into my hand. _Oh_. It feels good. I can perhaps see why Eric is so invested in being intimate if it feels like this. I have a feeling that, with him, it will be even better than my own fingers. For a second, I pretend that my fingers are his. In this moment, I can actually lie to myself. I know what his hands feel like on my flesh and what his calloused fingers feel like curled around my hips. It is not that much of a stretch to imagine them delving into me.

Blue-grey eyes flash through my mind and my body tightens and clenches and pulls taut. I manage to keep my whimpers and gasps silent and wash quickly when I am done. Is it normal to feel embarrassed and mildly ashamed after? I do not know, but I get out of that stall as swiftly as I am able. My pyjamas are pulled on and my dirty clothes are placed in the laundry hamper. My wet hair is tied back into a bun and I climb into bed, just as some of the others are arriving from dinner, or visiting Tris. Christina glares at me, but I just ball my blanket up in my fists, draw it beneath my chin, and close my eyes. I can try to pretend again. I can try to pretend that I am not hated by my fellow initiates, or that the person I am closest to here is a man that only wants to break me, or that I am not alone. I pretend that the gnawing in my stomach is down to hunger, rather than loneliness.

 

* * *

 

Sleep comes and goes in short spurts. Dreams plague me. Some are not so bad. Others make me want to scream. I have not had these dreams so frequently in at least a year. I cut them off, as I cut off most mental and emotional hindrances. In relinquishing control to Eric for just a little while, I have lost all control. I cannot dismiss my useless emotions and memories as I usually can. The dreams of Eric make me feel particularly out of control. I do not like it. I end up staring sleepily at the red, digital clock over the door. It is only midnight. I should be sound asleep. I wish I could sleep. I wish I could sleep peacefully and have a dreamless slumber. It is evading me stubbornly.

The door creaks open. Suspicion and wariness seep through me and I ease myself up onto my elbows. A frown creases my face. What is going on? I slip soundlessly from bed and flatten my body against the cold, dirty ground. One of the intruders steps in front of me. I grab his leg and wrench him to the ground before he can truly understand what is going on. One of my hands locks around his wrist as I pin him face first on the ground, sat on his back with my legs either side of him, and I use my other hand to grab the gun he holds in his unpinned hand. He freezes when I aim the weapon at the back of his head, letting the barrel touch his scalp, and he wisely flattens both hands against the ground. Smart.

“Princess, let Four up.”

My head snaps up at Eric’s amused voice and I find him stood behind us, smirking. “What is going on?” I demand, standing. I give Four his gun back. “What are you doing here?”

“War games, princess,” Eric answers in a tempting whisper. He trails his fingers over my arm and goose bumps appear in their wake. I give him a suspicious look. “Get dressed, princess,” he orders. With a sigh, I turn to obey and gasp when he unashamedly slaps my bottom. I stare at him, scandalised, and he smirks back at me unrepentantly. “It was there.”

“That is no excuse for inappropriate contact,” I retort coolly and look over my clothing options. “What do these war games entail?” I ask, but he and Four are already waking the others and ignoring me.

To be safe, I settle on a pair of sturdy, black pants, some thick socks, and a long sleeved shirt. My boots are pulled on, rather than my sneakers, and I slip on the Dauntless issued jacket. My hair is pulled back into its usual, sleek ponytail and I face Eric and Four. Behind me, the other initiates groggily step into clothes and get ready for this impromptu field trip. Tris ends up on one side of me, while Myra yawns on my other and others crush in behind us. It is uncomfortable, being surrounded by these people, but I have grown used to it against my will and better judgement. I wait for an explanation, but we receive none. The men just lead us from the dormitory with only the order to keep up. What are they planning? I am not looking forward to this, but it has to be better than slipping in and out of sleep and being plagued with unwanted dreams.

We are led out onto the train platform, where the Dauntless born, their trainer, and other members of Dauntless are already waiting. What is going on? I find myself looking at Eric for answers, but he is not paying attention to me. He is talking to a blonde woman wearing a top that reveals her pierced belly button and tattooed midsection. She is quite blatantly flirting with him. I look away before I can fully recognise the emotion swirling through my stomach. I fold my arms over my stomach and wait for the train. It can be the only reason we are all out here, after all. I just wish I knew why. They are withholding information and it is extremely frustrating. I appear to be the only one that thinks so. The others are talking amongst themselves in hushed, excited tones. I roll my eyes and tense when someone unfamiliar approaches me.

“Hey,” he greets. I slowly turn my head to glare at him. I am not in the mood for this. “I was there when you got your tattoo,” he tells me. I just look at him blankly. I do not remember him, nor do I wish to. He does not seem to take the hint. He grins and ploughs on. “I’m Nate,” he greets and thrusts a hand out for a handshake that I reluctantly give. “And you are…?” he laughs.

“Justice,” I reply in a clipped tone and drop his hand. Hopefully, this will be the end of our interaction.

“So, have you got any other tattoos?” he asks suggestively. Apparently, he cannot understand that I have no interest in him, or talking to him. “Because I wouldn’t mind finding them, if you catch my –”

“Stop talking,” I interrupt coldly. He obeys, but he still wears that idiotic grin. “I have no other tattoos and, let me assure you, you would not be invited to find them if I did,” I snap. He laughs. He should be walking away. I roll my eyes and turn away from him pointedly.

“Wait, Justice, right? Justice – not _Eric’s_ Justice?” he asks suddenly.

I turn sharply, eyes narrowed, and he gulps nervously. “Excuse me? Why do you say that?” I demand and he starts to back away. “Do not walk away from me,” I command. He freezes. Good. “Now, explain.”

“Eric’s going to kill me,” Nate whimpers. I glare at him. I hope he understands that _I_ will do something far worse than kill him if he does not elaborate on his previous statement. “Eric’s made it, like, his _mission_ or something to get into your pants before initiation is over,” he blurts out. Something inside of me hurts. I ignore it, at least for now.

“What else?” I ask. He avoids my eye. I grab his finger and bend it back sharply. When he cries out, I cover his mouth with my hand and tug him further into the shadows. “When I release you, you are going to give me the answers I want, understood?” I snap quietly. He nods. I let him go. “Talk.”

“He said you’re all uptight and stuff and he’s going to loosen you up,” Nate babbles. Pain cracks through my chest, just like it did when Eric called me ‘ice queen’. “I think he said –” Nate pauses and bites his bottom lip with a vaguely guilty expression. I bend his finger a little more and he rapidly continues. “He said something about melting the ice queen.”

The pain almost makes me gasp, but I control myself. It is good to know now, rather than later when I have done something foolish, like have sex with him. “Do not tell Eric what you have told me,” I order. Nate whimpers and I almost break his finger. He cringes and his knees buckle slightly. “ _Do not_ tell Eric,” I insist in a low, dark voice. Nate nods hastily and I release him. “Go.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Nate says before he leaves. I stare at him coldly and wait for him to go. I fail to understand why he is apologising. It is not the first time I have heard those words. “I’m sorry that he’s trying to do that to you, even if you do seem like a crazy bitch,” he elaborates and goes before I can reply.

I am just a game. To everyone in Dauntless, I am just a game. They are probably waiting for the day I give into Eric and let him ‘melt’ me, to use Peter’s vernacular. My jaw clenches and I refuse to admit that the burn in my eyes is from tears. I blink the feeling away and run to catch the train as it rounds the bend. I was stupid to let myself want him, to let myself feel the need to be wanted, and to let him have control, if only for a short amount of time. I know better, but I did it anyway. I will not let myself be dragged down that road again. I have better control than that. I refuse to let it happen ever again. I nod determinedly to myself and heave myself into the train. My eyes find Eric, but I go in the opposite direction and lean against the wall as far away from him as possible.

It is just as I said to him earlier: no one wants me. Nate has just proven my thoughts correct. It should not surprise me. It should not hurt me. It should not make me feel this awful. It does. I hate it. I should not be so affected by a _man_. It does not help that I end up sinking to the ground, my back against the train wall and my knees against my chest. For a little while, I just want to be invisible. I want to be left alone. It is not usually difficult. The other initiates tend to ignore me, with the exception of Peter and his minions, but they are closer to Eric and I am avoiding Eric. The only ones close to me are Tris, Christina, Will, and Al. Four is leaning against the wall not far from me, but he does not pay me much attention anyway. He disapproves of many of my actions. He does not like me and makes no secret of it. He does not look at me with the same disgust he looks at Peter with, but he does not like me at all.

“Okay, listen up!” Eric’s voice barks. I tune in, but I do not look at him. He disgusts me. “Tonight, we’re playing city wide capture the flag,” he announces. “Four and I are team captains and each of you gets one of these,” he states. I have to look at him, just to see what we get. He is holding up a small gun.

Molly is not impressed. “You call that a gun?” she scoffs.

Eric gives her a flat look, aims the gun, and shoots her in the thigh. Her considerable weight crashes back into the metal train wall and she slides down, grunting in pain. Eric strides forwards and plucks the dart from her chunky leg. “Neuro-stim dart,” he says clearly and holds it up for everyone to see. “It stimulates the sensation of actually being shot for a minute – a minute during which your team could win or lose,” he explains with a slight smirk. “Four, take your pick.”

“Divvy up the transfers first?” Four asks. Eric gives a short nod and his eyes briefly meet mine. I turn my head away and refuse to stand. “I’ll take the Stiff.”

No surprise there. Four actually likes Tris. He does not seem to like anyone else. I listen to Eric scoff and pick Edward. Also, no surprise. Eric wants power and Edward is the top ranking transfer initiate. Four chooses Christina next. Like Tris, she is lean and fast. When Eric picks Peter, I understand what they are doing. Four is picking a team made for speed, while Eric is choosing them for strength. I wonder where I will end up. I know Four does not like me, but I am quick when I fight. I also know that Eric has a goal to have sex with me and he might choose this as a way to seduce me. I hope not. I do not think I have the strength to argue tonight. I am just tired. I just want to be back in my bed, but I do not know where. I think, at this point, I would even choose my cold, lonely bed in Candor in that big, empty house full of silence and accusation and pain over being here. I made a mistake.

“I’ll take the princess,” Eric says after Will has gone to Four’s team.

Reluctantly, I stand and move to stand with Eric’s team. I am easily the smallest person on it. Everyone else towers over me. Eric would never have let Four have me on his team. I should have known that. He did call me his today, after all. He is possessive and he does not want to fail his mission. It makes me tense to even think about it. I have to force the thoughts away and focus on the gun that Four is handing me. I think I take it a little too eagerly, because he gives me an odd look. He does not need to know that I am imagining shooting Eric a few times. I avoid his eye and check the ammunition in the gun. Eric is handing out more. His fingers deliberately linger on mine when he presses the pack into my palm. I withdraw my hand quickly and slip the ammunition into a pocket on my pants. I do not meet his eye. He probably thinks I am embarrassed about earlier. He will soon find out it is because I know what a disgusting, despicable human being he is.

Four’s team leaves the train first. The rest of us leap out at the next stop and everyone immediately starts bickering over where to hide the neon yellow flag. I choose to stay out of things and sit on a low, crumbling wall. The fully fledged Dauntless are watching with amused expressions, except Eric. He looks frustrated. He wants to win. I stare out into the darkness and decide not to voice my suggestions and ideas. Everyone else is arguing about where to put the flag, or how to ambush Four’s team. With all the noise they are making, we are the ones that will be ambushed. I do not want to lose, but we will if this continues. This is what Eric gets for choosing a bunch of meatheads for his team.

“Enough,” I snap when my patience reaches its end. It does not take long, admittedly. I stand reluctantly and snatch the flag from a Dauntless born that lets out a shout of protest. “Shut up,” I command and aim my gun directly between Peter’s eyes when he steps forwards. “We will split into three sub-teams – one to guard the flag, one to run to defence and mislead the opposing team, and one to get the other flag,” I explain sharply. “Are we all in agreement?”

“Do what the princess says,” Eric says in a mildly amused tone. “She sounds like the only one with a brain in her skull.”

I roll my eyes and take charge of the other initiates. “Molly, Drew, and you, you will be guarding the flag, find a decent spot on high ground that’s easily defensible and _stay_ there,” I order crisply and shove the flag into Drew’s arms. “ _Go_ ,” I hiss and Drew, Molly, and the random Dauntless born obediently scurry off. “Edward, choose four others and you will be the defence – try to mislead Four’s team, send them away from our flag if you can and maybe get information out of them.”

“Justice, you’re kinda scary,” Edward grins. I glare at him. “Going, sheesh,” he laughs and chooses three Dauntless born and Al, before they go jogging away.

“The rest of you, spread out and find the other team’s flag,” I direct. “We should search places close to where their team got off the train – they have not had the time to venture too far out into the city.”

“Who the hell put you in charge?” Peter spits. “Just because you’re fucking Eric –”

He stops when I shoot him directly between the eyes. “I am not fucking Eric,” I deny absently. It feels almost automatic at this point. No one believes the truth here. “And I am in charge because the rest of you are idiots that could not put together a plan if you were handed the opposition’s strategy on a silver platter.”

“She’s so mean,” someone whispers loudly.

With a roll of my eyes, I step over Peter’s prone body and lead the way into the city. The others follow me and, somehow, I end up with Nate on one side and the smirking Eric on the other. I ignore them both. Nate is looking between us with wary eyes. No doubt he is waiting for me to confront Eric about what I have been told. I will not. I almost feel grateful to him. He is the only one to have been honest with me since I joined Dauntless. I am surrounded by lies and deceit and it is taking its toll on me. I believed I wanted the lies. I thought they would provide more comfort than the cold truth, but both are tearing me apart. It is not the time to be focusing on that, but it is difficult to dismiss it when I can see my former home in the distance. I can see the white and black and the uneven scales and the _truth_. The truth hurts. The lies hurt too. I am not sure that I am allowed comfort.

Nate coughs. Eric and I both glare at him. I am not entirely sure if he did it to ease the tense silence that hangs over the three of us, but, if he did, it does not work. It only makes it worse. He cringes slightly and digs his hands into his pockets. He avoids looking at us. I roll my eyes and continue scanning the area for any sign of Four’s team. We are nearing the pier. My feet come to a stop when I see the Ferris wheel creaking into motion. Shit. Yes, we now know their position, but they also know ours if anyone was up there. I let out a small, impatient noise and speed up. So do the others. I throw orders over my shoulder in a low, clipped voice and watch with some satisfaction as people break off to fan out through the pier. We have to move quickly. I do not trust Molly or Drew to keep the flag safe.

“Stay low,” I hiss at Nate when he cranes up onto tiptoes. “If you can see them, they can see you.”

Nate hastily drops into a crouch and joins Eric and me behind a crate. “You’re scarily good at this,” Nate grins as he pulls his gun into his hands and checks the ammunition. “What’s the plan, boss?”

“Have you not been listening?” I frown sharply. He grins innocently back at me. “We need to circle around and surround them, before they can get to our flag.”

“How do they know where ours is?” Nate asks obliviously. I resist the urge to hit him as we slink through the darkness on silent, careful feet. “Justice?” he insists.

“If they were on the wheel, they had a view of the entire city – only an idiot would not have used it to their advantage,” I retort in a quiet voice and hold up a hand to stop him. I can hear someone approaching on the gravel. “Down,” I order and rise, just in time to shoot Will. He hits the ground, choking. The dart hit him in the throat. A kill shot. I take his gun for good measure and tuck it into the back of my pants. “Go,” I command and we move a little quicker now. “They have a team moving towards our flag and, if they do not, then I have lost all hope of knowing anyone of any intelligence in this faction.”

“She’s a total bitch,” Nate says in a low, gleeful voice. I glare at him. “So, when we win, you fancy getting a drink to celebrate?” he asks hopefully with a suggestive wink sent my way.

I choose not to reply as I see some Dauntless born from Four’s team creeping up behind him. Eric and I shoot quickly. The trio hit the ground and we move even faster and with a little more caution. People will have heard those shots. They will be making their way towards us. We move between the crates, using them as cover, and Nate sticks far too close behind me. Eric is in front of me, focused on his task. He is the leader here. He must be the best of us, therefore he can go first and face any potential threats. My eyes, though, do drift up to the crates we are edging around. We would have a better vantage point if we were on top of them. I grab Eric’s arm before he can move around the next one.

“We need to be up there,” I whisper and point to the crate. “Help me up.”

“You’re bossy tonight, princess,” Eric smirks, but nods and straightens after peeking around the crate. His fingers curl easily around my waist and he lifts me. I grab the edge of the crate and heave my body up. I scowl back at him when his hand brushes my behind. I manage not to kick him in the face, even though I desperately want to. “What can you see?” he asks in a low voice when I am settled on the cold metal and looking over the crates.

“Four is approaching,” I whisper down to him. I aim my gun and follow Four’s progress towards us. I fire and Four hits the ground with a dart in the side of his neck. “He is no longer a problem,” I state and jump down easily. “We need to keep moving,” I say and brush the dust from my clothes. My nose wrinkles. “That is disgusting.”

“You look good to me,” Nate grins, eyes somewhere distinctly south of my face. I look down to find my shirt has pulled down and now reveals the upper part of my black bra. I punch him in the gut. “You can’t blame me for looking,” he wheezes, laughing.

“Shut up,” Eric hisses. “They’ll hear you, idiot.”

“You’re so cranky,” Nate mocks, but his voice is low.

I adjust my shirt and we continue on, but not before Eric gets an eyeful. Men. I roll my eyes and frown when some shapes flit past behind Nate. It is dark and the Dauntless wear black, but there is enough lighting that people are visible. I _know_ I saw someone. An ambush distracts me, however. Five fully fledged Dauntless – led by a woman about Eric’s and Four’s age – appear out of nowhere and surround us. Eric and Nate curse colourfully. I just wish I had stayed on top of the crate. They do not shoot us, but they hold us at gunpoint and order us to hand our guns over. This feels like giving up. Nate readily hands his weapon over. Eric does so grudgingly. I give up one and keep the one I took from Will tucked into the back of my pants. Hopefully, my shirt and jacket are baggy enough to hide it. If not, I hope that the dim light we are working by will disguise the weapon well enough.

“How many can you take down?” I whisper to Eric without taking my eyes off the group leading us off somewhere.

“What?” he frowns, confused.

“I still have the gun I took from Will,” I retort impatiently. “How many can you take down if I start shooting?”

“Hey! Stop whispering to each other!” one of the Dauntless shouts. “You’ve lost!”

“Have you got our flag?” I ask calmly. From their scowls, I do not think they have. “Then we have not lost just yet,” I state and pull the gun out.

I shoot the leader in the chest and she crumples. Eric lunges and manages to disarm a man, while Nate tackles another over. It is enough of a surprise that we manage to gain the upper hand. I shoot a woman in the throat and gasp when a thick arm locks around my throat. My body strains upwards onto tiptoes, head tilting backwards to allow me to continue to breathing, and I struggle to aim at the person holding me. If I can shoot him in the foot, I can escape, but he seems to sense my plan. He keeps himself out of my range and black is starting to spot my vision. I gasp for air and choke when I am abruptly dropped to the ground. I turn my head to see Eric pounding his fist into a large man’s face. Eric’s expression is frightening. He is livid. There is blood staining his knuckles and hands.

“Eric, we have to go,” I protest, voice hoarse, as I stand and rub my throat. “Eric!” I insist sharply when he continues on, heedless of my initial objection.

Eric’s eyes snap up and focus on me. His jaw clenches, but he nods and stands. Nate joins us, blood trailing down the side of his face. He looks at Eric warily, but claps the larger man on the shoulder and jogs on. I follow and the three of us continue on our way to the Ferris wheel. Eric and Nate are wearing smug, triumphant expressions that I roll my eyes at. We stop at the foot of the wheel, however, at a triumphant shout from the _other_ team. We all turn sharply to see Tris waving _our_ flag with a wide, proud grin. Tris is one of the only other initiates that I can stand to be around, but, right now, I could really shoot her. What the hell just happened? We had a great plan. If everyone had done their job correctly, especially the defensive teams, we should not have lost.

“No fucking way!” Nate cries and throws his gun down childishly. “Look how close we are!” he shouts and stabs a finger at the flag hanging from a horse on the carousel.

“Where the fuck were the others?!” Eric barks angrily. His eyes are dark and he is seething. “We shouldn’t have left the flag with Molly and the other idiots!” he snaps and glares at me.

“Do not blame me,” I retort before he can start accusing me. “You could have said your piece at any time and you were perfectly willing to go along with the plan when it was going well, so do _not_ pin everything on me because we lost.”

“ _We fucking lost_!” Nate wails and drops to his knees dramatically. “I _hate_ Four!”

“We’re leaving the idiot behind,” Eric decides and strides away. I follow him. On this, I agree with him. “I don’t blame you,” he adds grudgingly. “Your plan was a good one, but the execution was shit because no one really wants to listen to you.”

“Which is because you shot that other guy in the face,” Nate’s voice adds cheerily. He has managed to catch up with us and appears to have gotten over our loss. “That was _awesome_ by the way, like, no hesitation, just ‘boom’ and ‘shut up, asshole,’” he cackles and throws his arms around Eric and myself.

“Is he always like this?” I ask warily. Eric sighs heavily and nods grudgingly. I shrug Nate off uncomfortably and he whines and latches onto Eric instead. Eric glares at him. It seems to have no effect. “Why do you think we lost?”

“Because someone didn’t follow the plan and do what they were supposed to,” Eric snaps. He is angry. I wonder if I should be prodding him like this. “I’m going to kill the lot of them.”

“Oh no, we should run,” Nate grins at me, fearless. “The monster has awakened!”

Eric and I stare at him blankly and with no small amount of annoyance. We continue on in silence, but Nate does make a big fuss when Eric literally throws him to the ground. The rest of the team is not that difficult to find. Peter looks suspiciously smug. Everyone looks wary, annoyed, and angry. They all keep throwing uncertain glances at Eric’s now frighteningly neutral face. He should be reprimanding them all. He should be angry, like he was when he first realised we had lost. The fact that he is not is concerning. I am not the only one that thinks so. Nate edges away slowly and tugs me along with him. I think he is trying to hide us behind a nearby crate. It will not work. Eric spots us before we have taken even two steps and freezes Nate with a furious glare.

“So, who didn’t follow the plan?” Eric asks far too calmly. All eyes swing to Peter, who looks mildly disconcerted now that Eric’s focus is on him. “Peter,” Eric states coolly. “Why didn’t you follow the plan?”

“It was a dumbass plan,” Peter retorts stupidly. It was not. It was a good plan. “We don’t have to do what she says because you’re screwing her.”

“I’m not screwing the princess,” Eric denies lazily. He has yet to move. His body is tense. His muscles are coiled and he is ready to spring. “That’s not to say I wouldn’t, but she’s kind of a frigid bitch.”

“Just because I refuse to help you in your endeavours to ‘melt the ice queen’ does not mean I am frigid,” I argue. That pain is spreading through my chest again. The cracks are spreading like spider webs.

“Where did you hear that?” Eric demands, scowling. Nate shifts somewhere to my right. “You _told_ her?”

“She almost broke my finger! And she’s scary for someone so little!” Nate defends and thrusts me in front of him like some sort of shield. “I thought only you could pack that much sheer malice into a single look!”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Eric snaps and faces the others again. They look entirely too intrigued and Peter looks far too smug. “Did anyone else have an issue with the plan?” he demands and everyone hastily shakes their heads.

“I mean, she’s fucking crazy, but it was actually a decent plan until the asshole just let the other team walk into the tower,” a Dauntless born girl pipes up, jerking her chin at Peter. “By the time we got there, it was too late to do anything.”

“You just let them walk straight in?” Eric asks softly. Peter gulps and shifts back slightly. His fingers flex around his gun and I hate Eric right now, I really do, but I react before I can stop myself. Nate does too. We both have our weapons aimed at Peter before he even curls his finger around the trigger. He freezes in place and glares at me hatefully. “What the fuck were you thinking?” Eric hisses. “I get it – you don’t like her and you want to fuck her over because you’re a dick, but you sabotaged the entire team and _yourself_ , because you’re a little bitch that can’t handle it when someone’s better than you are.”

“And you can?” Nate mutters. Thankfully, I am the only one that hears him.

“She is not better than me!” Peter argues. “She’s ranked below me!”

“After tonight, we’ll see,” Eric snaps back. Peter’s face twists hatefully and I know I will be the one to pay for this. Dammit Eric. I do not want to have to deal with Peter and his pettiness. “You _deliberately_ lost us this game,” Eric continues. His voice is low and dangerous and his eyes burn with an icy sort of anger. I will never understand how that is possible. “If you’d done your fucking job, we could have won, you know that? We were in front of their goddamn flag!”

“Seriously?” Edward demands, looking at me. I nod and he swings to Peter, anger curling his lip. Everyone else seems to be the same. “What the hell, man?! You’re such an asshole!”

“Well done, Pete, you fucked us all over,” a Dauntless born sneers.

It looks as though I am not the most hated initiate anymore. Peter looks mildly uncomfortable at the sheer amount of disgust being sent his way. Even Molly and Drew glare at him. I just lower my gun and head for the train when I see Four’s team. I have no patience for them. We lost because of Peter. I am glad I shot him in the face. I wish I had shot him again after discovering that he deliberately handed us this loss. My fingers flex around my gun and my eyes scan the people flowing past me. I spot Peter. For once, he is not flanked by Drew and Molly. I slip back into the shadows, raise my gun, and take my aim. My finger curls around the trigger and the barrel of the gun follows Peter’s movements. Occasionally, people move into my line of fire and I patiently wait for my shot. It is why I was chosen for sniper training, after all. I get a clear shot and my finger squeezes.

Peter hits the ground with a dart in the base of his spine.

I toss the gun into the arms of a passing Dauntless and continue on with my usual, blank expression. People are laughing at the groaning Peter, but I do not spare him a second glance. I adjust my jacket and see Tris break off with a few Dauntless born. Her friends do not go with them. Confusion and slight hurt flashes through Christina’s eyes, but she hides it well. It is not my business at any rate. They are not my friends. If Tris wants to go with the others, she should be allowed. She did win the game for their team after all. I try to ignore the bitterness that floods through me at that thought. I had a solid plan and everyone agreed to follow through with it, except for Peter. Perhaps I should not have shot him in the face, but he has been asking for it and that is still no excuse for sabotaging himself.

“Did you shoot Peter again?” Eric’s voice asks, low and amused and smooth. I look up at him. He is walking so close that our hands brush. I hate how my skin prickles at the contact and pain cracks a little deeper in my chest. I look away quickly and put my hands in my jacket pockets. As ever, my photograph is stashed safely in the pocket. “Are you ignoring me?” Eric questions, still amused. “We both know that doesn’t work, princess.”

“I have no interest in being a notch on your bedpost, Eric,” I state calmly without looking at him. “As you told me earlier, you have plenty of others willing to spend time in your bed, so I suggest you find them.”

Eric sighs and grabs my arm. Before I can escape, he yanks me away from the crowd and into the darkness of the city. As far as I can tell, we are close to the Erudite district. We are in the no man’s land where the factionless sometimes roam. I am not entirely comfortable here, especially when I am unarmed. I attempt to yank my arm free, but his fingers tighten and I am stuck with him. He leads me behind a building and puts an arm around my waist to yank me against him. I turn my head when he leans in to kiss me. His lips touch my cheek instead of my mouth. I keep my eyes down to avoid looking at him. He gives me emotional whiplash with the way he goes from being a total asshole to making me feel as though I cannot live without his kisses.

“Princess,” Eric sighs against my cheek. His lips brush over my skin. I refuse to look at him. If I do, I may give in. I refuse to let that happen. “What did Nate say to you?” he demands and his arm tightens around my waist. “What did he say?”

“He says that you made your mission to get into my pants before initiation is over,” I answer in a dull, monotone voice. I meet his eyes reluctantly. “That you said I was uptight and you are the one that is going to loosen me up,” I continue. I am getting angrier with each word, but it is not showing in my voice. “That you said that it is your goal to melt the ice queen,” I finish acidly. “And, I must admit, I am getting tired of hearing that term.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so frigid –”

“I am not frigid,” I interrupt, insulted. “Just because I will not sleep with you on a whim does not mean I am frigid, Eric, and stop using it as an insult, because it will not get me into your bed.”

“Bed, against a wall, across any flat surface,” Eric smirks. I glare at him. “Okay, maybe I’m trying to fuck you to prove a point, because, frankly, I haven’t had to work this hard since…ever,” he admits. He is telling the truth. I still do not trust him. The truth can be used as a weapon after all. “And I’m not going to lie and say that we’re going to be together and we’ll have a future, or whatever, but I want to fuck you, princess,” he says bluntly. “It’ll happen more than once, because I want to teach you exactly what to do and how to do it and I’ll have fun doing it, but I’ve got no idea how long it’ll last or how long it’ll be until I get bored of you.”

“You say that as though you will get bored of me before I get bored of you,” I retort. He smirks and I glare at him icily. “You also speak as though my giving into you is a matter of fact.”

“Isn’t it?” he chuckles and leans down to kiss me once more, but, again, I avoid him. He is starting to get frustrated. His lips skim over my jaw and his fingers bite into my waist. “Princess –”

“You are aware that I have a _name_ , are you not? You asked me what it was the first day of training, or have you forgotten it?” I interrupt.

“I like calling you princess – it suits you,” he drawls. It is an insult, but lately it is spoken with softer tones without the biting harshness it used to hold. “And I know your name, but I’ll say it when I’m inside you and that’s it.”

“Stop saying it as though sex between us is inevitable,” I snap, frowning up at him. I try to ignore the fact that I masturbated for the first time earlier to thoughts of him. “I do not want _this_ , okay? I do not want to be a living breathing sex doll, or the end game in some bet you have with someone, or yourself,” I insist. He sighs tiredly and grabs my chin to force my mouth onto his. I reel back, but he holds me firmly and kisses me hard enough that it hurts. “Eric,” I mumble in protest, attempting to twist away from him, but he will have none of it.

He bites my bottom lip and inserts his tongue into my mouth. I fight at first. I wriggle and struggle in his arms and punch at his chest. None of it works and he practically _mauls_ me. Then, I give up. I go limp and just _stand_ there in the cage his arms create. I do not return the kisses. I do not cling to him as I have previously. I do not respond to him at all. I even keep my eyes open. All I see is his face, which is blurred with how close he is. I can sense his frustration. He is frustrated when I do not respond. He is frustrated when I do. I cannot win this battle. He yanks away from me, disgusted, and shoves me back from him. For once, he is the one that walks away. I go in the opposite direction, even though initiates are not supposed to be out in the city alone without permission. Given that Eric and Four are the ones that led us out here, I think we have had all the permission we need. Besides, Tris and the Dauntless born left without them.

Besides, if I am alone, then no one can see the tears shimmering in my eyes. I will not let them fall. That is a weakness I refuse to let Eric bestow upon me. I wrap my arms around my middle and keep walking into the unknown. A part of me wonders when they will realise that I am gone. That is _if_ they realise. Eric probably will not notice my absence until he wants to attempt to get me into his bed again. That is apparently all I am good for. I am just a warm body for him to lose himself in for a while. I say warm. He calls me ‘ice queen’ with the same derision that Peter does. He thinks I am cold and frigid and sees me as a challenge. He only wants to fuck me. He wants to win this asinine challenge he has given himself. It hurts. It hurts that I am just a joke to him. If he gets what he wants, he will go back to his friends and boast about melting the ice queen. I will be _his_ for the rest of my days. No one will want me if I give in to him. Not that he really wants me.

Pain radiates through my chest and I walk a little faster to distract myself from him. I have no idea where I am going, or even where I am. That seems to be a reoccurring theme in my life. I do not know what I am doing in the slightest. In Candor, I knew what my role was, but it was so _lonely_. I thought that things would change if I transferred. Perhaps they would have if I had chosen a different faction. As it is, I chose Dauntless and I am not only lonely, but also facing hostility at every turn. I feel lonelier than ever. Eric tricks me and I let him trick me. He chases the loneliness away, but he leaves his marks on me in return. He breaks open wounds that I cannot have opened. Those wounds are delicate enough without him ripping at them. That man will shatter me if he continues and not in the way he thinks. I will simply fall apart and no one will be able to put me back together. I fell apart before and I forced the jagged pieces back together. It is not perfect. I will never be the same. It worked at the time, but my crude work is falling apart and I do not know how to fix it this time.

 

* * *

 

As the sun breaks over the horizon, I am sat on the curb in the Candor district. I am exhausted. My legs ache and my skin is damp with perspiration. I have had worse. I will have worse, but I just wanted to feel in control again, just for a little while. In Dauntless, around Eric, I feel as though I am losing any and all semblance of control and it scares me. Bad things happen if I am not in control. I have no wish to have anyone hurt because of me. My arms wrap tightly around my knees, which are drawn up against my chest, and I watch the sun climb the sky over the city filled with ruin. I have seen so many ruined buildings in my exploration. Some ruins are newer than others. It is strange, but it is not my place to think on it. I do not particularly care. I sigh and hug my legs a little tighter.

“Been waiting for you.”

My body tenses at the voice and my head turns sharply to find Eric striding towards me. He does not look angry, or annoyed, or even the strange, icy calm he gets when he is truly furious. He just seems…tired. There are marks beneath his eyes. His hair falls over his forehead, tousled and unkempt. His jaw is stubbly and he clearly has not shaved. His clothes look crumpled, as though he has spent a long time in them. Did he look for me? Did he know I would eventually find my way to the Candor district? Does he care? I do not know what to think, or what to say, so I stay silent and turn my eyes back to the sunrise. I feel him move closer and sit down beside me. The side of his body brushes against mine, but it is not overt, or inappropriate. It is almost comforting. His warmth seeps into me. I do not feel so cold anymore.

“I thought the factionless got you,” Eric states after a few minutes. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, but he is staring at the sunrise. I do too after a moment. “After a while, I figured you were going to come back here.”

“Why do you care?” I retort quietly.

“Because, you’re one of our best initiates and I’m not going to be responsible for chasing you off,” Eric shoots back bluntly. It is true, but not completely. I wonder what he is hiding. It is not my place to dig for the truth anymore, however. “I’m a lot of things, princess, but I’m not a rapist,” he tells me. My eyes slide to him to see a sneer on his lips. “I won’t _force_ you into anything, okay? But, it’s really fucking confusing when, one second, you’re practically dry humping me, and then, the next, you’re being a bitch and telling me to leave you the hell alone,” he says, frustrated. “You’re giving me mixed signals, so you’ve got to just tell me what the hell it is you want, alright? Try that honesty thing you were born into.”

“I was supposed to choose Candor,” I find myself admitting quietly. “But, I could not stay and face my truths.”

“Yeah? What truths? Because you have no problem telling everyone exactly what you think of them,” Eric snorts and then lets out a short, harsh bark of laughter. “Except me – you tell me that we shouldn’t be doing what we’re doing and then do that thing where you rub yourself on –”

“Stop,” I groan, blushing. He smirks at me and I sigh and let myself rest a little heavier on his side. “I mean what I say, I do, because it is entirely inappropriate,” I say quietly. “You – you are a leader and you are in charge of my training and just look at what the others are already saying.”

“It isn’t against the rules, princess,” Eric tells me. I sigh and retreat into myself once more. “It’s not exactly ideal and everyone’s going to bitch about your rank, but it’s not against the rules.”

“I just – I feel – I feel like you are the only person in this entire goddamn city that can stand to be around me, and like the only reason you can is because your end game is having sex with me,” I confess and a strangled, watery noise leaves me. It takes me a second to recognise it as almost hysterical laughter. It hurts so much to laugh, even if it is humourless. “It feels crap, you know that? It feels really shitty to feel like the only thing you are good for is meaningless sex.”

Eric is silent. I do not think this is the honesty he wants. “I get that,” he says eventually. I watch his face carefully. He is staring at the ground and his shoulders are tense. “You’re the only girl I’ve met that hasn’t jumped on me in hopes of getting something out of my leadership,” he admits. It sounds as though the words are torn out of him against his will. He refuses to meet my gaze. “In the beginning, it was funny and I figured you’d give in soon enough, just as soon as you realised what I could do for you, but you didn’t need me to boost your rank and you just kept looking straight past me,” he snorts. “Then, it started pissing me off and I want you just to prove I can have you.”

“That is not what I want, Eric,” I reply softly. “I just no longer want to feel lonely.”

“Yeah, it’s shit being at the top,” he says blandly. I sigh and hug my knees tighter. “You get used to it.”

“I am used to it,” I sigh tiredly and shiver in the early morning chill. “I have been alone for three years, but I was foolish enough to think that a transfer would change things.”

“Maybe you picked the wrong faction,” Eric states. I give a weak shrug. I have thought that. I do not think he would appreciate me admitting it, however. “There’s no going back now, princess.”

“I know,” I say quietly. Our voices are hushed in this early hour when very few are awake. I do not think he has slept. I certainly have not. “I do not regret my decision, but I do wonder if things would have been better somewhere else, or I simply do not belong.”

My words make Eric tense for some reason. His fingers snap around my arm almost painfully and force me to look at him, my eyes wide with confusion. “Don’t say that,” he hisses. His eyes are hot, molten steel. “Do _not_ say that again, especially not near Erudite, or where anyone else can hear you, understand?” he snaps in a low, dangerous voice. “If Jeanine Matthews heard you say that, no matter what you said or your tests said, she wouldn’t let you go.”

“What do you mean?” I frown, confused. “What does Jeanine Matthews have to do with anything? Why would she not let me go?” I demand, but he stays silent and releases me. “Eric,” I insist when he looks away from me. “What do you mean?”

“Are you Divergent?” he asks sharply. Confusion floods me and it takes me a moment to remember the fairy stories about people that cannot fit into factions – those called Divergent.

“Divergents do not exist,” I deny, but his jaw is tense and his eyes are closed off. He has never managed to hide anything from me before, but he is succeeding now. “Do they?”

“The Erudite are hunting them,” he admits grudgingly and rubs a hand down his face. “They’re concerned that their inability to fit into society will lead to the collapse of our system and our safety.”

“I can assure you that I am not Divergent,” I say firmly. “My Aptitude Test told me Candor and no others.”

“You’re not aware during simulations?” Eric presses. “Like during the Aptitude Test?”

“No, of course not,” I frown and look at him properly. “Is that how you know a Divergent? They are aware during simulations?”

“Yes,” he nods and sighs heavily. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

“We do a lot of things that we should not be doing,” I point out wryly. My shoulder rests against his and my body leans closer to his warmth. “Like this, we should not be here.”

“You ran off, princess, it’s my job to find you,” he snorts and refuses to meet my gaze, even as my body rests slightly heavier on his.

I touch his arm with my fingertips and let my hand slide down the muscular limb until my hand meets his larger one. Our palms slide together easily and my fingers slowly curl over his hand. I do not thread our fingers together as I have seen lovers, or teenage lovebirds do. I just hold his hand. After a while, he puts his fingers over my hand also. We sit there with our hands rested on his knee and our arms and sides pressed together. He chases the cold away just as effectively as he banishes the loneliness for the moment. I know it will not last. We will push each other away. We cannot spend too long in one another’s company. I get frightened of getting close to someone, even as my body craves it. He gets frustrated and lacks the patience to deal with someone as broken as I am. For now, I want him. I will end up hurt and I know that, but, right now, he is what I need.

“No, you would have sent someone else if it was anyone else,” I say. I am throwing caution to the wind by saying this. My voice is soft and my breath must tickle his ear. My chin is rested on his shoulder and I am facing him. “You came after me yourself,” I continue. “Thank you for coming after me.”

For the first time, I initiate the kiss, rather than the other way around. It is brief and soft and sweeter than I had thought he would allow, but he does allow it. His stubble rasps against my skin and it feels more pleasant than I had imagined. His free hand cups my cold cheek and his fingers are as icy as my skin. I lay my other hand over his. It will not help. We are both too cold, but his closeness still sends heat swirling through my veins to warm me from the inside out. I kiss him again, nose brushing against his, and press a little closer to him. For the first time, there is no expectation hanging heavily over me. For the first time, I do not feel as though he is just waiting to push me further than I can take. For the first time in years, I feel myself smile a little. I thread my fingers through his on the hand against my cheek and let my lips part when his tongue traces my lips. He feels good. He makes me feel good.

“Time to go, princess,” Eric sighs when we hear the train. “It’s Visiting Day – you need to get prettied up for your family.”

“I doubt that they will be there,” I admit and stand. He follows suit after a moment. “My parents and I have not been spoken about anything of substance in years.”

“Isn’t that just puberty?” Eric smirks. I glare at him, but he grabs my hand and yanks me along without a care to my irritation. “Okay, I blabbed shit I shouldn’t have to you, so you have to tell me something.”

“I have nothing on that scale,” I retort evasively and quicken my stride to meet his. Our hands are still joined together. He gives me a flat look and raises an eyebrow. “Really? You want me to tell you a secret? Are we thirteen?” I say disparagingly.

It does not do anything to sway him, unfortunately. “Why do you hate your parents?” he insists. I frown sharply at him.

“I do not _hate_ my parents,” I deny immediately. It is true. Hatred is too strong of an emotion to describe the passiveness I acknowledge my parents with. It is an emotion they have looked at me with. I cannot tell Eric that. I cannot tell him, because he would want to know why. “We just – we reached an understanding in recent years that involves as little contact as possible and I doubt that they will go out of their way to break that level of indifference.”

“Are you going to tell me what led to that indifference?” Eric asks as he releases my hand and begins climbing the iron towers that lead to the train tracks.

“Not today,” I answer and follow him easily. We are soon stood on the platform and I can hear the train approaching. “It is far too long a story and I just want to sleep for the day, if there is no training.”

Eric smirks and looks mildly amused, but he says nothing as the train comes into view. He runs and I am close on his heels. He grabs the handle easily, muscles rippling beneath his tight, long sleeved shirt, and heaves himself up. His other hand slams into the button to open the doors and he swings himself into the carriage smoothly. I snag the handle and gasp when Eric’s strong hands wrap around my waist. He yanks me into the carriage and we end up staggering back into the opposite wall. He is chuckling. I feel an almost smile on my lips. I do not want to go back to Dauntless right now. I just want to ride the train with him when we are both free of the looks and the cruel words and the expectation, none of it good. I want to stay in this bubble, just for a little while longer. I feel safe here. I do not feel lonely here. If I go back, the pain and the loneliness will come back and I will be forced to acknowledge the fact that I am crumbling.

He kisses me this time. I do not mind. I wrap an arm around his neck and a hand curls into the front of his jacket. He cups my cheek with one hand, while the other grips my hip and pulls me flat against him. He is solid and warm and strong. I am powerless against him. It can be the only reason I let him turn us and pin my body against the wall of the train. He stops kissing me for the moment to grin at me. I thump him for the triumph in his expression. He just lets out a low laugh and kisses me again. He presses closer until his body is flat against mine. I can feel every inch of his muscular frame against me and it makes my body tremble and liquid heat pulse through me. His knee slips between my thighs and he flattens his palm against the base of my spine. The other hand curves around the back of my neck and his thumb strokes over my jaw. He scrapes his teeth over my bottom lip and a shiver races down my spine.

“Oh! Oh my, I’m sorry! We didn’t mean to intrude.”

We jerk apart at the unfamiliar, female voice and I spot an Abnegation woman over Eric’s shoulder. When did the train stop? Because the train _has_ stopped. How could I have not noticed that? Eric mutters an expletive and steps away from me. I look out of the open door to see that we are by the Hub. There is a group of mixed people stood on the platform. There are people from Erudite and Candor, mostly, but I see a few Amity amongst the blue, black, and white. The woman that apologised for interrupting us is the only Abnegation. She must be Tris’ mom. I watch Eric approach them and spin a very convincing lie about us being their guides. It is complete nonsense. I cannot quite stop myself from rolling my eyes as I move towards the doors at Eric’s impatient gesture. I smooth out my appearance and stride over.

“This is Justice,” Eric announces and lays a hand on the small of my back. “If you’ve got any questions, just ask her – she’s more than happy to help,” he smirks at my deadly glare. “Have fun, princess,” he murmurs into my ear and chuckles when I elbow him in the chest.

“Make yourselves as comfortable as you are able,” I state over the muted din of people clambering into the train. It is obvious they are unused to such practice. It is obvious that they are not impressed with the interior of the train, especially the Erudite. “You are the leader,” I say to Eric in a lower tone. “Why do I have to answer inane questions?”

“Because I’m the leader and you’re the initiate,” Eric replies immediately and smirks smugly. “You have to do what I say.”

“Is that not an abuse of power?” I ask mildly, holding a hand out to help an elderly woman that is having difficulty getting into the train. She blinks at me. She is Erudite. She purses her lips, but takes my hand and mumbles her thanks for my assistance when she is safely on board. “Do Dauntless usually have so many visitors on Visiting Day?” I question Eric and watch as a Candor woman attempts to calm a crying toddler and get him into the train.

“Yeah,” Eric grunts, clearly displeased with the fact. “It’s a bitch to sort out.”

The Candor woman gasps at the language and covers her screaming child’s ears. “You shouldn’t use such language,” she snaps disapprovingly. I roll my eyes and her gaze flickers to me. My eyes meet hers and I see it, the thing I am running from: pity. “Justice,” she greets quietly and shuffles onto the train without another word.

Eric flashes me a questioning look, but I ignore it and watch the final people clamber onto the train. They are all clumsy and the older ones require help. I am the one that gives it to them. Eric just eyes them with something akin to disdain. He smothers a yawn once everyone is on board and the train begins to move. He shuts the doors and we stay close to them. I sink to the ground and hide a yawn behind a hand. My eyes feel itchy and heavy and I feel so tired. I sense Eric slide down beside me. He just sighs when I let my head drop onto his shoulder and my eyes flutter closed. Our palms fit together, hidden beneath our legs, and I sigh sleepily into him. My other hand closes over his wrist and my fingertips settle over his pulse. It is slow and steady, almost lazy. He surprises me by resting a hand on my cheek. My eyes crack open slightly, but he just keeps his hand on my face and strokes a thumb beneath my eye.

“You can’t leave me with these people, princess,” he whispers in my ear. I feel my lips twitch slightly. I squeeze his hand and force my eyes open, but stay where I am. “Can you see your family?” he asks me quietly and my almost smile vanishes.

My eyes scan over the crowd, but I am too low and it is too dense for me to properly see. “No, but I may have missed them,” I admit and press a little closer to him. “What about your family?”

Eric snorts and a sneer of derision curls his lip. “ _My_ family is better off dead,” he says bluntly. I frown at him, but do not press him for answers. “Your family has its indifference – mine has its disappointment,” he spits and his fingers clench around mine. “I haven’t spoken to them since the day I transferred.”

“I did not speak to my parents the day I left,” I confess quietly. “I did not speak to them for a very long time before I transferred,” I pause and sigh softly. My thumb smooths over his bruised knuckles. There are healing scabs there that I am careful not to disturb. “Sometimes, I used to think that even their hatred was better than the way they could not even look at me, but then I realised that I am alright without them and that I have no need of them.”

“You don’t need them,” Eric agrees. “You’re at the top of initiation, princess, just as long as you keep it up in the next stage.”

“Physical training is over?” I ask, surprised. “The game was the final part?”

“Yep, ranks go up tomorrow after the leaders and Four discuss things,” Eric smirks. I look at him demandingly and his smirk grows. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“You already did,” I point out mildly. “You just told me that I am at the top of initiation.”

Eric glares at me, realising his slip, and I just settle my head more comfortably on his shoulder. He sighs and we fall into silence once more. At least, we attempt to. There are so many people around us that silence is impossible. There is bickering. There is heated debating. There is chatter. There is laughter. There are multiple eyes on us. It is not obvious. The glances are swift and periodic. I can hear the questions in the air and the disapproval. It is the Erudite that disapprove. Candor has everything out in the open. Amity is all about expressing the good emotions and I can hear a woman singing about young love (I shudder. I am incapable of love). The Abnegation woman is all alone and stood not far from us. She is silent and staring out of the window with a slight smile on her face, which is prettier than I first thought.

The journey is longer than the one I took my first day here. I suppose this train goes right up to the compound, like the one that took us into the city the previous night. I stand when Eric does. He opens the doors, just as the train is slowing down. I watch him jump out before it stops. I follow him and have to run to keep my balance upon landing on the platform. His arm wraps around my waist and almost tugs me off balance. He steals a kiss in our moment of relative privacy as the train rolls to a stop. I let him. I can feel reality pressing down on me, but I let him. I let myself pretend that I am whole while I am in his arms. We have to break away, though, as the visitors begin to exit the train and other Dauntless exit the compound and stare at us in surprise. We are not supposed to be here, but they are not stupid enough to question Eric.

“Get them to the Pit,” Eric barks at the Dauntless. He takes my arm and begins to propel me into the compound. “Make sure none of them wander off,” he adds and steers me firmly into the compound. We are taking the path to the dining area. I yawn again and have to blink a few times to keep my eyes open. “Food and then sleep,” Eric decides. He sounds tired too and I can only nod my agreement. “Maybe some groping before the sleep.”

“I do not need to know your masturbation schedule,” I protest, frowning at him in disgust. He laughs and glances over his shoulder, before he yanks me into a hard kiss and deliberately squeezes my bottom. “Oh, you meant I would be the receiver and most probable giver of this groping,” I realise, mumbling against his now grinning lips. “You are disgusting.”

“You know you want to,” Eric whispers huskily in my ear.

“Eric, we would probably fall asleep before we got to the main event,” I state bluntly as we begin the descent of the Pit. He snorts in protest. “I have been awake for twenty-four hours and most definitely need some sleep if I am going to function correctly.”

“How are using so many syllables if you’re so freaking tired?” Eric grumbles and releases my arm when we enter the dining area, which is full of Dauntless already.

“Habit,” I reply absently and follow him to the food tables.

I grab a muffin and glare at a girl that tries to protest. I need muffins and coffee. Eric lets out a small snort of amusement and thrusts a plate into my hands. The girl bolts when she realises who I am with. I roll my eyes and load my plate with food. I did not eat dinner the night before. I require the sustenance. People stare when I sit at the same table as Eric. He is the one that sits beside me and steals the coffee pot when I reach for it. He just smirks when I glare at him. He is entirely too smug. He does surprise me by pouring me a mug of coffee, however. I mumble a thank you and begin eating and drinking. We do so in silence. I end up drinking three mugs of coffee and feel far more alert afterwards. Eric looks the same. He drank an extra mug after all. I still let out a jaw breaking yawn, however, and nibble absently on the last chocolate muffin of the batch. I feel sleepy, comfortable, and peaceful.

I have no idea how much time has passed, but there are more people than the ones that had been in the carriage with Eric and me. There must have been a second train. I watch them, uninterested, and spot Tris with her mother. There is Christina with her family and Peter, Drew, and Molly with theirs. Will is stood with a girl that must be his sister. She is too young to be his mother and they look similar. There are others. There are older Dauntless with people that must be their families. It is unusual, but not unheard of. I suppose, for some, it must be difficult to cast aside those first eighteen years, despite the saying ‘faction before blood’ that Dauntless take so seriously. I see a lean, blonde woman with the Amity and she is smiling brightly, but she looks distinctly Dauntless with her short hair, tight clothes, tattoos, and piercings. The Amity still embrace her. She still lets them. I wonder what that is like. To have a family that still wants you.

 

* * *

 

Edward is stabbed through the eye the same night the rankings go up. He is forced to become factionless due to the debilitating injury and Myra follows him. I will be next. I ranked higher than Peter. It means I am now the first transfer initiate in the ranks and Peter is the second. He would have been first, if he had not deliberately lost capture the flag. Everyone knows that, even Peter, and everyone also knows that it was Peter that stabbed Edward, but there is no proof, which means that he is still here and that I am in danger. I could try to get Eric on my side and see if he can dismiss Peter from Dauntless, but I do not think he will. He will tell me that a Dauntless would handle it themselves without wanting to be coddled. My lips twist at the thought. I do not want to spend the rest of initiation looking over my shoulder, just waiting for Peter to pounce.

A sigh ripples past my lips as I follow Four up the Pit for the second stage of training. Eric told me to succeed you need to be able to control yourself. I can do that. I should be alright. I just wish that I had managed to get a little more information out of Eric. Everyone already thinks that I am exchanging sexual favours for a boost in my rank. I might as well get something out of it. I know how jaded and cynical the thought is. I cannot decide if it is better or worse than the thick numbness that I am used to. For now, I try not to linger on it and take a seat beside a Dauntless born, while Four leads another into a room and closes the door behind them.

What is going on?

“So,” a girl with a shaved head says nonchalantly. She is Dauntless born. “Who’s the first out of you lot?”

Eyes flicker to me, but I stay silent. “That’d be Justice,” Peter announces for me and points at me rudely. Did his mother not teach him that pointing is rude? “That one – the one that’s screwing Eric.”

“I am not sleeping with Eric,” I deny. I already feel exhausted. “You would have been first, if you had not _deliberately_ lost capture the flag to spite me,” I point out sharply. “Perhaps if you were not so petty, you would not have had to stab Edward in the eye.”

“I didn’t do that,” Peter denies.

“Liar,” I accuse blandly. I can see it. I can see the lies he spews out so naturally. “You are nothing more than a liar and a coward,” I tell him bluntly. His face twists with rage. “Do not attempt to deny it, Peter, not when you had to attack Edward whilst he was sleeping to be able to beat him.”

“I’m not the one that came first after Edward was taken out of the game,” Peter smirks. I stop and finally look at him properly. I had been watching him from the corner of my eye, but now I focus on him. He would not dare to attempt to cast aspersions on me, would he? Unless he realises that what he has done _is_ cowardice and, if Eric or the other leaders believe he is responsible, he will most likely end up factionless. He is sly. He could have come up with that plan. “So, how we do we know that _you_ didn’t stab Edward while he was sleeping?” Peter says nonchalantly and picks dirt out from beneath his nails.

“Because Justice isn’t a coward,” Tris pipes up scathingly. Her face is drawn into a scowl of disgust and her blue eyes gleam with it. “And Justice wasn’t the one missing when Edward woke everyone up screaming.”

“We all know it was you,” Christina adds. Peter does not look best pleased at this turn of events. “Justice is right – you _are_ a coward.”

“At least I’m not screwing my way to the top,” Peter snaps.

“Why are you so pissed that Eric actually _likes_ her? Is it because _you_ want to screw Eric?” Christina retorts without missing a beat. I look down to hide my amusement. “I think we’ve worked it out, Tris!” Christina grins and nudges the slight blonde girl, whose lips are twitching at the corners. Others are laughing loudly.

“So, no one cares that she’s nothing but a whore?” Peter spits and my gaze meets his.

“You know, _Pete_ ,” Eric’s voice abruptly drawls. We all turn to see him lounging lazily against the entryway into the waiting room. In a mockery of Peter’s earlier gesture, he is also picking dirt out from beneath his nails, but he is using a large, dangerous knife. “I’m getting really sick of you implying that I’m so desperate for a bit of pussy I’d put my faction in jeopardy by allowing a deadweight in,” he says in a low, calm, dangerous voice. His eyes lift and I can see that molten ice burning coldly in their depths, but he is locked on Peter. The boy is pale and tense and twitchy. Good. “Is that what you think, _Pete_?” Eric demands, spitting the shortened version of Peter’s name like a curse.

“No,” Peter bites out. “Sorry.”

“And, Pete, it would never work out between us,” Eric smirks and straightens. “Let’s go, Pete,” he says and gestures with his knife at Peter, who pales considerably and stays in his seat. “Hurry up, we’re doing two at a time today to get things moving along a bit quicker,” Eric insists. “You’re first on my list.”

“Why don’t you take the ice queen first?” Peter challenges foolishly.

Eric’s eyes flash. I would feel sorry for Peter if he were a decent human being and I were one too. Instead, I just feel mildly satisfied as Eric strides over and grabs Peter by the collar. He hauls the dark haired boy from his seat and literally drags him up to his own eye level. Peter’s toes barely skim the cracked linoleum tile. No one seems to be breathing and Peter is frozen in Eric’s grip. I watch silently and take a glance at Eric’s expression. It is dangerously blank. The calmer Eric seems, the angrier he is. Peter is in trouble. Good. I lean back in my seat, fold my arms over my stomach, and wait for the carnage to begin. Maybe Eric will make him cry, or bleed. Either would make me satisfied.

“What was that?” Eric asks in a dangerously soft voice. A shiver shoots down my spine and my core tightens and heats. “Do you _want_ to be factionless, Pete? Is that it?” he asks smoothly. “Because, if I don’t start your training for the final test now, then you don’t get any training at all and you’ll fail the final test,” he continues and tosses Peter onto the ground. “Let’s go, or get the fuck out – I don’t have the patience to deal with your bullshit,” he sneers. “I’m surprised no one’s stabbed _you_ yet.”

“We have been tempted,” I state, confident I am speaking for the others. Tris and Christina giggle, while Al and Will laugh softly. “But, we practice something called restraint and basic human decency, both of which Peter appears to lack.”

“You’re a bitch,” Peter spits.

“And you are a coward,” I reply without missing a beat. “Which is worse in the eyes of the Dauntless?”

“Stop bitching at each other,” Eric interrupts Peter’s retort, but he wears a slight smirk. “And move it,” he adds to Peter, who is still sprawled on the ground. “I haven’t got all day.”

Peter pulls himself up and roughly straightens his clothes. He smartly stays silent for once and follows Eric from the waiting room. He will not stay silent for long. He will get his revenge for today. He is petty and cruel and sly. I will never know from which direction it will come. I will have to be on my guard at all times, especially when I sleep. Perhaps I can persuade Eric to give me a gun to sleep with under my pillow. He might agree, but I do not think he will. He will expect me to handle it alone without any outside assistance, even his when he has claimed me, which I still hate. I have told him I am not a possession, but he still calls me his with this infuriating smirk. Sometimes, his arrogance makes me angrier than Peter’s cowardice. I shake the thought away.

The door Four went through opens and the Dauntless born staggers out, supported by two Dauntless. I see that one of them is Nate. He grins when he spots me and drops the Dauntless born. The other man snarls out a curse and rolls his eyes when Nate bounces over to me. I look up at the tall, curly haired man, unimpressed. He flings himself into the seat beside me and half-sits on Al in the process. I roll my eyes and watch him from the corner of my eye warily. I have no idea what his interest in me is. Eric’s is obvious. Nate’s is not. This is the second time in two days he has approached me with no obvious ulterior motive. Perhaps I should ask Eric. They seem like friends. At least, Nate does not seem afraid or cautious of Eric like the majority of the other Dauntless.

“Hey, Justice,” Nate grins. I nod in return. “Ooh, silent type, got it,” he winks. “You ready? You gonna kick some ass? The second stage is a bitch.”

“So am I, apparently,” I respond dryly. He throws his head back and laughs.

“See? That’s why I like you, Justice,” he chuckles and pats my head as he stands. “ _Marlene_!” he crows suddenly and literally leaps across the room. I do not think his feet touch the ground. It is mildly impressive and incredibly concerning, especially when he lands on a blonde Dauntless born girl heavily. She squeaks and looks thoroughly squashed. “Hey, little cousin! Look how grown up you are!” he coos and kisses her face all over.

“ _Get off_!” the girl demands, squirming beneath him, while everyone else either laughs or watches in complete and utter bafflement. “Dammit, Nate! Get off of me!” she squeals.

“Uh, Justice?” Four’s voice calls. I stand gratefully and stride briskly into the room. “Nate, can you let Marlene go?” Four asks tiredly. “She’s turning blue.”

“NO! Aunt Viv will never forgive me for throttling her baby!” Nate wails and shakes Marlene forcibly. “You have to _breathe_!”

Four shuts the door firmly on the scene. “Take a seat, Justice,” he sighs and gestures to the battered chair near the back of the room. It looks like the one from the Aptitude Test. I cautiously slide onto it and look around for some clue as to what is going to happen. “I’m going to inject you with a serum and you’ll be sent into a simulation that I’ll be watching on this monitor,” he explains and taps the corner of a computer screen with the tip of a finger. I frown slightly. I do not like this. “The simulation will consist of one of your fears, but, during the final test, it will be a culmination of all of them,” he states and meets my gaze sternly. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I answer quietly. He nods and readies a needle. “Do you have to watch?” I find myself asking. My fears are my own. I have things I want no one else to see.

“How else are we going to know how you’re reacting to those fears?” Four replies, but there is a surprising and unusual gentleness to his voice. “I won’t tell anyone what I see, okay?” he tells me and moves to stand beside me. Carefully, he places a hand on my shoulder and readies the needle in the other. “The simulation will begin sixty seconds after I inject you,” he says. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose,” I reply. I do not have much of a choice.

My eyes close as the needle slides easily into the side of my neck. My body grows heavy and I frown slightly at the coldness that sinks into my veins. Slowly, my eyes flutter open. Confusion hits me hard. I am in the middle of the city, but I was just in a room with Four. What happened? Where is Four? I stand and give a small shake of my head. I feel my hair stroke along the back of my neck. I look around and recognise the place. I am near the Candor sector, not far from my parents’ house. It does not explain why I am here. Have I been thrown out of Dauntless? Did Four put me to sleep to make it easier to get rid of me? None of it makes sense, but I start walking in the direction of my parents’ house. Maybe I can get answers if I get there. Maybe I can get hold of someone at Dauntless and get some answers.

The wind is cold as it strokes over my skin and my feet carry me towards Candor. I move quickly. Factionless roam this place. There are many abandoned buildings that they can take refuge in. Vermin like rats and mice also make their home here. My skin crawls at the mere thought. My pace quickens as night swiftly settles over the city. I wish I was armed. It would make me that much more comfortable. Eric would just roll his eyes and tell me that my body is the only weapon I need. I comfort myself with that thought. I sweep my eyes over the area and freeze in place when I hear something nearby. I cast my gaze over the piles of junk and grab a metal rod from one such pile. It was probably found by a factionless to use as a weapon, but now I need it and they will have to deal with it.

Something suddenly lands on my head. Tiny claws scratch at my face and scalp. Sharp, pointed teeth dig into my flesh and a horrible, hairless tail whips across the back of my neck. A shriek escapes me before I can stop it. I slap the rat off of my head forcefully and it smacks into a wall, falling limp, but another latches onto my leg and then another and another and another until I am overrun. They squeal and chatter and bite and scratch. I do not scream again, but disgust sweeps through me and I almost gag. I swing the rod and hit as many as I can without hitting myself. They bite harder with every blow. They keep multiplying. The blood seems to be attracting even more. I have to escape.

One dives into my shirt and I scream. I yank it out and smack it into a nearby dumpster. My entire body is shaking. My heart is pounding painfully hard against my ribcage and I just want to get away. One bites my thigh and I send it flying. I am acting pathetic. I am bigger than they are. There are more of them, but I am still bigger and stronger and smarter than they are. I beat many other initiates in initiation. I will not be defeated by _rats_. I shudder and force myself to calm down. I look at the problem and take care of the ones clinging to my body first. They hit walls with sickening cracks. Then, I handle the ones running at me to avenge their fallen comrades. Disgusting, disease carrying, filthy vermin! I think I take a little too much pleasure in hitting the rats with the metal rod, but blood is escaping from multiple wounds and I am going to require _many_ shots to feel safe from disease.

Abruptly, my body jerks and my eyes snap open (open? Were they not open already? I was fighting rats) to find Four and the room. Realisation sinks in as I struggle for air and Four hands me a cup of water. I wait for a teasing comment about my fear. Rats – it is hardly original. They are not exactly life threatening. He does not, however. He stays silent as I regain my breath and take small sips of the water he has given me. It helps to steady me. I finish the cup and throw the plastic container into the nearby trash can. It shows how much my aim is improved, because I do not have to try to put it into the trash.

“Not bad,” Four tells me. My hands are still shaking slightly. “You handled it pretty well, kept yourself under control, and got out in good time,” he praises. “You should be proud of yourself, Justice, _you’re_ doing really well here.”

I understand why he stresses the ‘you’re’. He is telling me that my rank has nothing to do with Eric. My progress here is due to my skill and not Eric’s need to control and possess me. I nod gratefully in acknowledgement and ask if I am allowed to leave. He helps me stand and shows me to the door. My knees tremble, but I manage to walk without assistance, unlike the Dauntless born that was first tested. I let out a small sigh and step out into the waiting room. I know I am pale and look slightly ill. Tris frowns at me worriedly and Christina, Al, and Will exchange wary looks. I keep my head high and clench and unclench my hands to stop them shaking.

“What do you think happens in there?” Christina whispers to Will as I pass. “If Justice looks like _that_ , it must be bad, right? I’ve never seen her look anything but controlled.”

“It can’t be anything too bad,” Will hedges, but I do not hear the rest because I leave and make my way towards the dormitory.

I just need some peace for a little while. That is all. Still, when I get there and fall into a light doze, I dream with rats.

 

* * *

 

People are having nightmares. I am too, but I do not wake up screaming or crying like many of the others. Al is the worst. He is the biggest, but he is the worst. Tris is the only one that does not seem shaken and she has the best times. I am fifth or sixth, since we are ranked with the Dauntless born now. Unfortunately, Peter is doing well. He is third overall. Tris is first and a Dauntless born named Uriah is second. I need to improve my times. Eric said I should do well in this section of training, because I have self-control. It has only been one session, however. I have more than enough time to improve. We have two weeks before the final test that determines our final place in initiation. I have time. I can do this, but we have yet to find my worst fear.

I do not know if I can cope with that. I do not know if I can cope with anyone seeing it.

That thought is forcibly shaken away as Eric calls for a girl named Lynn and Four calls my name. My gaze momentarily meets Eric’s. He smirks slightly and gives me a small nod. I stand and follow Four, while the girl with the shaved head goes after Eric. She looks between us suspiciously, but stays silent. After what happened yesterday with Peter, no one dares speak about Eric and myself. I am glad of that. It makes life a little easier, especially when I have my fears to focus on. A shudder slips down my spine, but I slide into the seat and watch Four prepare the needle. I am the third to be in this room today. Once again, he and Eric are splitting the initiates. I wonder if that is normal. I might ask Eric later, if I find him, or Nate. Nate has taken to eating dinner with me, after all.

“Ready?” Four asks quietly. I nod and the needle is slid smoothly into my skin.

I wake in the middle of the city. I frown and push myself out of my seat. I know this place. It is close to the Hub. I used to walk these streets every day, but that was long ago. My feet carry off in a direction before I can stop them. I know where I am going. I do not want to go there. My heart is already pounding and my eyes are trained on the ground. My movements are jerky and stiff, as though my body is being pulled along against my will. It certainly feels like it. It feels as though there is a string attached to my chest and it is tugging me in whatever direction it likes. I do not like it. I want to fight against it, but I find myself completely powerless as I go to the place I never want to go again.

The park looms in front of me. I can feel the hairs on the back on my neck prickling and rising. I do not need to look to know where my feet have stopped me. This place is locked in my memory forever. I can practically feel the blood beneath my sneakers. My throat tightens and I squeeze my eyes closed. If I do not look, I will not have to see. I can lie to myself now. I chose Dauntless. Dauntless can lie. Candor cannot. It is why I left. I need to pretend. I need to pretend that this is not happening, but it is. My lungs tighten. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I close my eyes even tighter, but the sunlight burns them and leaves a searing orange in my eyelids. I can hear children playing in the park. I can hear people laughing. I can hear them running and playing and having fun. It hurts. It really hurts.

“Cissy!”

Pain shatters through my chest and my eyes snap open. Big, brown, innocent eyes gaze up at me from a beaming face. No. This isn’t – it can’t – _no_. I take a staggering step back, but the boy laughs. The air in my lungs turns icy and my knees almost buckle. My body shakes and my hands reach out before I can stop them from doing so. My fingers collide with warm, soft, _real_ flesh. A strangled cry escapes me and I drop to my knees, dragging the boy against me in a crushing embrace. He giggles and hugs me back. His arms wind around my neck and his face presses into my neck. He is still laughing. I just sob into his hair and clutch him against me desperately.

“Dean, oh god, _Dean_ , I’ve missed you _so_ much,” I whimper. He pulls back and gives me an amused look. He wipes my tears away clumsily. He is nine, just like the last time I saw him. Something is not right about that, but I do not care. He is _here_. “Where have you _been_?” I whisper thickly and cup his face in my hands.

“What are you talking about, Cissy?” Dean huffs impatiently and grins at me cheekily. His dimples deepen in his cheeks and my chest hurts _so_ badly, but I cannot pull away from him. “Let’s go play, _come on_!” he urges and tugs on my hand.

Clumsily, I stand and stumble after him into the park. We used to come here every day after school. I cannot remember why we stopped. I smile at him as he clambers up the jungle gym and I easily follow. He pouts at how easily I beat him. I laugh and kiss his soft cheek. That makes him cry out in protest and he leaps down to take off at a run. Smoothly, I jump from the top rung, land in a crouch, and race after him. He squeals when my arms hook around his waist and lift him from his feet. I swing him in a circle and laugh at his giggled demands to _put him down_. Nope. Not happening. I tell him so with a cheeky grin and cover his face with kisses. He cries out in protest and tries to bat me away. I let him and watch him race across the dying grass of the park.

“Cissy, there’s a cat!” Dean suddenly cries. Something in my memory lurches and screams, but I pay it no mind and look at my little brother. He is stood on the curb and pointing at something through the afternoon traffic. People are going home from work and school. The roads are busy at this time. He is too close. That something in my memory screams louder and my heart thuds furiously. “He’s gonna get hit!” Dean says fearfully. He has always loved animals. He frowns, like he always does when he is determined, and steps into the road.

No.

I am too far away.

I can only scream as I watch his body bounce off of a car and soar through the air. For a single, macabre moment, he is flying. I race towards him, screaming his name, and collapse to my knees beside his body. His eyes stare back at me, pained and confused and frightened. Useless platitudes come stumbling out of my mouth as I try to work out which bit of blood to stem first. There is so much. It is over his face and his body and his leg – oh, his leg. His leg is bent at a horrible angle and so is one of his little arms. My hands choose his face. I try to uselessly wipe away the blood and whimper his name pleadingly. His lips part and I let out a strangled, pained scream when blood comes bubbling out of his mouth. It surges up his throat like the vomit surges up my own. I swallow the vomit down.

“Dean, Dean, no, please, Dean, don’t leave me, _don’t_ leave me,” I beg. He chokes on his own blood. “I’m here, I’m right here, Deano, just keep your eyes open, okay? Just keep looking at me,” I plead and look around the suddenly deserted streets. “ _Help_! Someone _please_! Help!” I scream. Tears stream down my cheeks and my hands shake on his cheeks. “Somebody,” I whimper. His eyes are fading. My forehead presses to his. I can feel his blood on my skin. It is still warm. He is still warm. “Please, save him, _please_ , don’t go, Dean, don’t leave, I’m sorry, just don’t go.”

I have no idea how long I sit there. I cradle Dean’s body and just cry. It hurts. Oh god. I am being ripped open and I cannot stop it. Eventually, I go numb. The numbness is best, after all. I sit there with Dean in my lap and stroke his floppy hair back from his face. It is sticky with blood. I close his eyes and rest his head against my chest. If he had a nightmare, he would sneak into my room and we would sit like this until he fell asleep. We would curl up in my bed and our parents would find us in the morning. They would never be angry at us, instead they would laugh and tease Dean for his nightmares. He would get embarrassed and claim that I had the nightmare and, of course, I could never deny him. I would play along until Mom gently reminded him that the truth is always best.

A hand touches my shoulder. My body jerks and my eyes snap open. Four stares down at me with pity in his eyes. My entire body is trembling and, before I can stop myself, I start crying. It is loud and hoarse and the sobs are ripped from with such great force that my whole body wracks. Four just sits there and keeps his hand on my shoulder. I think I say Dean’s name. I want Dean. I want him _so_ badly. I want him in my arms and smiling and laughing. I want him _alive_. I do not want this pain. I moan like a wounded animal and wrap my arms around my chest, as though to hold it together. I feel as though I am splintering. I am falling apart all over again. I cannot do this. I need Dean. I want to go back in. I want him in my arms. I want to see him again, just one more time.

“I need to see him again,” I beg. I look up and meet Four’s sad eyes. “Send me back in, just for a little while, so I can see him.”

Four winces and shakes his head. “Not today, Justice, and I can’t control what fear you face,” he reminds me gently. A pained, wild sound is ripped out of my throat and I cannot stop it. I have lost control. I am broken and splintered and shattered. There is no putting me back together. “Justice, just take a deep breath,” Four instructs sternly. I whimper and my lungs seize and refuse to obey. “You’ve survived this once, Justice, you can survive it again, okay? So, calm down or I’ll have to get a medic to sedate you before you hurt yourself.”

Hurt myself? I was tempted, I remember, just after it happened. I remember holding a knife against my flesh and waiting for relief. The physical pain offered me nothing but more to deal with. I lived with the way my soul and heart and emotional wellbeing was shredded, until I learned that control. I have that control. I just have to pull it back into place. I desperately try to grab it and wrench it down. It is battered. The shields are dented and there are cracks, but it works for now. It helps to calm my breathing and stop my tears and make me look, physically, okay. I swipe at the tears clinging to my cheeks and take in a deep, shuddering breath that makes my whole body tremor. I swallow and hope that, when I talk, I do not sound too hoarse. I know my cheeks are blotchy from crying and I know that the people outside probably heard my breakdown.

“How old were you?” Four asks quietly. I flinch slightly and swing my shaky legs over the edge of the chair to stand.

“Fifteen,” I answer shortly. My voice is hoarse. I distract myself with straightening my ponytail. “He was nine,” I state and leave.

I was right. People are staring at me with wide, disconcerted eyes. I try not to look at them. I try to walk normally, but my head ducks and my shoulders slump before I can stop them. I see the smug look on Peter’s face. He has no right to look so smug. My hands curl into fists. He whispers something to Molly and Drew and the trio all snigger and grin at me maliciously. My control is not perfect anymore. Animalistic rage lashes through my veins and I have to walk away from them before I do something stupid. I cannot beat all three at once, no matter how angry I am. My nails bite into my palms. They will break the flesh if I am not careful, but I do not care. I have had worse in training. I need to regain my control. Before I do anything else, I have to do that.

There will be no sleeping tonight. If I do, I will dream of Dean and I will wake screaming. I cannot let the others see even more weakness. Peter and his minions will never let it go. They will cling to it now, but, if I have nightmares, I will never live through it. I shake the thought off and head up to the place where we learned how to shoot. The air might help clear my head. I have no suicidal thoughts. I think that that would be cowardice and I refuse to lower myself to Peter’s level. I place my hands flat on the top of the low, rough, stone wall and stare across the city. I can see the park from here. I can almost see the flowers that I lay out every month for him. I do not know if I will be allowed to lay flowers again. I have to work it out before next month. I will ask Eric, but that means explaining things to Eric. I am not sure if I can do that.

My fingers clench on the stone wall and I bow my head. It hurts. My throat tightens and my eyes and nose burn with oncoming tears. My vision blurs and, before I can stop them, the tears fall. My knees give way and, slowly, I sink down onto the gravel and pull my knees up to my chest. I press my face into them and let the sobs rip out of me. My body shudders and shakes and rocks back and forth slightly. I am so pathetic. I am so glad that I am alone. I let go of control and let the pain and hatred and anger come crashing through me like it has not in years. Tremors wrack through me and I can barely breathe. My chest _hurts_. It feels as though my lungs are collapsing in on themselves and my heart is being torn apart at the seams. The work is so fragile, it is not surprising at how easily it comes apart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Descriptions of defiling another person's objects by urination and by masturbation. Violent reaction and threats placed on someone's life.  
> Small Warning: Sex. Lots of sex.

I leave the compound around midnight. I have not stepped foot in the dormitory since this morning and I have no wish to. I ate a little, simply because I felt a bit lightheaded, but I leave the compound. It is against the rules and the factionless can be dangerous, especially at night, but I do not care. I have done what I need to there for now and I will go back before training commences tomorrow, but I need to be away, just for a little while. Perhaps that makes me a coward. Eric will not be best pleased. Is it terrible that, right now, I just do not care? I probably should be worried that my act could be perceived as running away and that running away is an act of a spineless coward, but I cannot bring myself to be. My thoughts are consumed with my own self-loathing and fear and pain. There is no room for anything else.

The train is silent and empty. It is almost comforting. There has been no silence in my life since I joined Dauntless. I never thought that I would miss the quiet. My life has been quiet for so long that I thought I need noise and distraction and lies. I just needed to pretend for a little while. Pretence is a lie. It was not allowed in Candor. There were no words of comfort in Candor, because my parents believed that those words would be lies and could not speak those lies. I was left alone to wallow in my guilt and grief and heartbreak with no way to alleviate it. I do not believe that it is right of me to. I failed to do the one thing that Dean trusted me to do: keep him safe. I promised I would protect him and I failed in the worst possible way. He died in my arms and there was nothing I could do to fix my mistake. My parents made sure that I never forgot that.

A shudder rushes through me as I exit the train near the Candor sector. My heart pounds painfully against my ribcage, but I tread the familiar paths. I shove my hands into my pockets and my fingers touch the photograph always kept there for safekeeping. I cannot look at it yet. It is too dark anyway. I just keep my fingers on it as I stride through the streets. My entire body is tense, but I force myself to keep moving. I have nothing to lay there, but I must go anyway. It is where his ashes were spread. It was favourite place and the place of his death. It did not seem right to keep him away from there because of my own emotions. My parents did not consult me anyway. They scattered the ashes without even telling me. Mom only informed me when I asked about them. At that time, I had been a mess. I had shrieked and screamed and raged upon the discovery of the absence of his urn. She told me in a quiet, icy voice that they did not feel that I should be there.

After that, I locked myself away.

It took time, I remember. It did not happen overnight. It took a long time. I had been happy before and able to express emotion freely, but that changed after Dean died. At first, my emotions had been wild and I lashed out at the slightest provocation. Slowly, I began to shut them away. Piece by piece, I locked them away until there was nothing left inside of me. I made myself cold and empty and blank. It was safer than the extremes that I felt after Dean’s death. Everything was heightened, but there was no good in it. All I felt was anger and pain and hatred and guilt. There was no good to outweigh the bad, so I shut them away and ignored them. I learned to push them down if they threatened to surge up until they just stopped. I am aware of my deficiencies. I am aware that I am not coping well with these emotions when they are dragged out of me. I am aware that Dauntless will see this as weakness and I must control it before the final test. I cannot be factionless.

My feet come to a stop on the curb where Dean died. The flowers I placed against a streetlight last month are dead, but still there. No one moves them. I am the only one that replaces them. My parents tend to ignore everything to do with him. They hid away all pictures of him and only spoke about him a few times after he died. It was always to tell me that it was my fault. My knees waver and my throat tightens at the thought. I have to sit down before I fall down. I rest against the streetlight and let out a sigh. My eyes close to hold back the tears and I let my head fall back against the metal. I need a moment to breathe. I sigh and rub a hand against my chest, just over my painful heart. I have that image pressed into my flesh now.

My eyes open and I look down at the inside of my right wrist. A battered, ragged looking heart sits on my skin. It has multiple tears through it, but is messily stitched back together. The stitches are sloppy and frayed and, if you look close enough, my brother’s name can be seen. The needle has been stabbed through the middle to join the biggest tear together. Blood oozes from the tears and where the needle has dug through the heart. It pools in the openings and gathers at the tip of the heart, which is crumbling and decaying, just like it is at all the edges. It is made up of dark reds and deep blacks and I can only see it by the glowing, orange light of the streetlight. It is a representation of my emotional state. It is not pretty. It is not supposed to be.

The photograph in my pocket crackles slightly as I shift. I slip a hand into my pocket and withdraw the photograph that I have stared at every day for the past three years. It is slightly faded now, but it is the only thing I managed to save from my parents. It is a picture of Dean and myself when he was just a baby. I was six and Dad had let me hold him. I remember being so _proud_ and _excited_. Eagerly, I had clambered onto the couch beside Dad and he had carefully placed baby Dean into my arms. He had been heavier than I had expected, but I had hugged him protectively and kissed him and told him I was very happy to have a little brother. Dad had laughed when I had said I wanted Dean to grow up fast, so we could play together. I just stared down at my baby brother with utter awe and Dad had snapped a picture. He managed to capture Dean’s wrinkled, chubby face and my amazement in one picture.

It feels wrong that this is the only thing that I could save from my parents. There were so many other photographs that better displayed who Dean was. It still feels wrong to think of him in the past tense. It makes my chest hurt and my eyes burn. I have to blink to get rid of the tears. I have already cried too much today. I will not cry again. It takes effort, but I succeed and shiver slightly. It is cold and I am only in a thin jacket, after all. Perhaps I should go back to Dauntless. No one needs to know I broke the rules. I would not be surprised if Eric somehow already knows, however. He did find me when I wandered off after capture the flag, after all. That was his fault. I sigh and stand reluctantly. My muscles and bones creak in protest, but I ignore that.

I stash the photograph back into my pocket and pick up the dead flowers. They are tossed into the first trashcan I pass. When initiation is over, I will replace them. For now, I just make my way towards the train tracks. I do not know when the next train is due, but I can wait. The cold air is helping to calm me and fit my shields back into place at any rate. I easily climb the iron tower up to the platform and remember how difficult it was that first day. That day feels like it happened years ago. I shake the thought off and heave myself onto the platform. There is no sign of the train, but I have not heard one in a while. One must be due soon. I sit down to wait. I fold my legs and rest my hands in the gap they form. A sigh ripples free from my lips and I bow my head. Strands of hair spiral free and stroke across my cheeks in a mocking imitation of a caress. I push them away impatiently.

As I am tidying my hair, the train weaves around the corner. My hair is tied off swiftly and just in time for me to catch the train. Unsurprisingly, it is still empty. I settle with my back against the carriage and wait. It does not take long to return to the compound and I slip in unnoticed. It is mostly silent. Even the most party devoted Dauntless are in bed at this time. It must be about three o’clock in the morning, or thereabouts. I doubt anyone has noticed my absence at any rate. The other initiates may have, but will probably dismiss it as me spending time with Eric. They all believe I am sleeping with him, even though the only night I have spent away from the dormitory was the night of capture the flag. They must think we have sex in whatever place at whatever time we can manage. My lips press together disapprovingly at the thought.

The dormitory is quiet and filled with sleepy breaths and snores when I enter. I stop when I realise that my bed is not the only one empty. Suspicion trickles through my veins. Everything else is forced to the back of my mind. I cannot concentrate on that right now. Three beds are empty. One is mine, but I do not know who the other two belong to. I really should have concentrated more on everyone’s placement in the room. I stay near the doorway. It is a good vantage point. I did not see anyone else in the corridors, after all. That means the people awake must be in the dormitory. Perhaps it would be safer to retreat for now. My pride rankles at the thought. Reluctantly, I back out of the room and slip into a nearby hallway. I press my back against the wall and wait. If they were waiting for me, they will follow me.

Sure enough, two people run past my hiding place. Both are male and I think it is Peter and Drew. What are they up to? I frown suspiciously and back further down the hallway. I shall have to hide and find somewhere safe to sleep for however many hours I can manage. Maybe I could hide out in the training area. There are always mats there and it is draughty, but I have my jacket. I could stay warm enough. Or I could sneak back to the dormitory while they are out looking for me, but they could attack when I am in bed, like they did to Edward. I would not be able to sleep if I went to the dormitory and I will need sleep if I am to continue with training tomorrow. So, what do I do? Eric would expect me to fight, but I feel too tired. Four would expect me to tell him of my suspicions. The other initiates would not give a damn.

“ _Boss_!”

Nate?

I turn to discover a rather drunk Nate staggering towards me. At his heels is Eric, who is weaving back and forth slightly. Nate grins widely and stumbles when he reaches to hug me. Clumsily, his arms wrap around me and he kisses my cheek sloppily. I manage to wriggle free and wipe his drool from my cheek. Eric shoves him away and yanks me into a crushing embrace instead. My face is squashed against Eric’s solid chest, which makes breathing a little difficult. One of his hands is at my hair, impatiently trying to tug the elastic free. It hurts. I bat his hands away and wrench myself free from his arms, baffled. Just how drunk are these two and where have they been? What are they still doing up this late? Honestly, Eric has to do tests tomorrow. It is just irresponsible.

“Boss, it’s my birthday!” Nate announces happily from his spot on the floor. “We were looking for you, but no one saw you,” he pouts and tugs on the leg of my pants. “Boss, can you take me home?” he asks pathetically. “I’m sleepy.”

“Why are you up so late?” Eric questions, tugging at my hair again. I slap his hand away. He grins at me and pulls my hair again. “Were you dreaming about me?” he winks. “You were, weren’t you? You want to have sex with me.”

“You are far too drunk to do anything,” I retort scathingly. “And, no, Eric, I did not dream of you – I was just taking a walk.”

“I could get it up,” Eric scowls and looks down at his crotch. “You might have to help a bit, but I could get it up.”

“If you say so,” I reply and pull Nate to his feet when he tugs on my pants again. “Where does he live? He will fall into the chasm if he is left to his own devices.”

“You smell nice,” Nate smiles, sniffing my neck. I push his face away firmly. “Eric, she smells really nice.”

“She tastes better,” Eric says smugly. I put a hand over his mouth before he can kiss me. His eyes dance mischievously. My eyes narrow on him suspiciously. Something warm and wet suddenly touches my palm and _licks_ lavishly. He is licking me. I grimace in disgust and yank my hand away. I wipe it on his arm. He grins at me like a naughty schoolboy. It makes warmth simmer in my stomach. He looks so handsome. “You taste good, princess,” he states and tries to kiss me, but somehow misses and his lips touch the tip of my nose instead. “You’re too short.”

“You have not had a problem sober,” I retort and push him away. I have to grab his arm before he manages to topple over. “Nate, do not go in there,” I snap warningly, but he ignores me and barrels through a nearby doorway.

“ _Marlene_!”

There is a sleepy shout of protest and shock, followed by more, and I sigh loudly. Eric just laughs. I am not going to get Nate. I refuse to. I can hear him talking to someone and a girl yelling back at him to leave her alone. I sigh and walk away. Eric follows me. I can still hear the Dauntless born initiates bellowing at a drunk Nate. I have no idea where I am going, as I cannot go back to the dormitory just yet. Another sigh flutters past my lips, but turns into a startled gasp when a large hand shamelessly grabs my behind. I turn, eyes wide, and stare at Eric in shock. He grins back at me mischievously and snatches my waist. He drags me against him. I struggle the entire time and shove at his broad chest when he settles me there. He does not relent in the slightest. My efforts have no effect on him. My hands might as well be cotton balls for all the effect they are having.

“Release me immediately,” I command. “You are drunk and I am not dealing with this.”

Eric laughs and the sound is surprisingly pleasant. I glare at him to hide my confusing feelings and walk away hurriedly. He follows again. I have no idea where we are. I have lost my way at some point, but I will turn it around and find the training area. I jump, however, when thick arms coil around my waist and just hold me gently against a solid form. His head falls against my shoulder and his nose brushes the side of my neck. It is simple and tender and gentle. It is nothing like our previous encounters, perhaps with the exception of Visiting Day, but even that turned sexual quickly. This does not feel sexual, but feels intimate all the same. It makes my cheeks heat and my heart beat a little faster. I gulp and blush hotter when I feel him inhale deeply and his lips brush across my neck. A shiver rushes down my spine.

“You smell nice,” Eric mumbles. “You always smell nice.”

“Eric,” I say weakly and squirm slightly, but his arms tighten and he _hugs_ me. He sighs into my neck and settles himself more comfortably against my back. “Eric, you should go home,” I tell him quietly. “You should sleep this off.”

I feel Eric grin against my skin. “You could sleep with me,” he says suggestively and presses his crotch against my rear. “I might not be able to do some of the kinkier stuff, but I could definitely make you come,” he promises and grinds a little harder against me.

“No,” I refuse immediately and manage to escape. He continues to grin at me. It really does make him look younger, more handsome. It is disarming and threatens to weaken my resolve. “Go home,” I instruct. “You have tests to administer in the morning.”

“ _No_ ,” Eric practically whines. “You should come with me,” he says and then his grin comes back, even more wicked than before. “We could come together,” he winks.

I roll my eyes and try to pretend that I am not blushing. “You are drunk,” I repeat and put a hand against his chest to keep at him arm’s length. He starts pushing my hand down towards his crotch. I yank my hand back hastily and glare at him. “Eric, this is – _what_ are you doing?!” I yelp when he abruptly slings me over his shoulder and staggers dangerously. “Put me down before you get us both killed,” I order through gritted teeth, even as I try not to wriggle too much, because he will lose balance and end up injuring the pair of us.

“I’m going home, like you told me to do,” he sighs, as though I am mentally deficient. “I’m just making sure you’re safe,” he says impishly and I know he is grinning like a naughty schoolboy doing something he should not. “You never know who you might meet in these dark hallways.”

“You mean like drunken leaders with no sense of personal space?” I retort dryly and struggle to find a comfortable position. His broad shoulder digs almost painfully into my midsection and all the blood is rushing to my head.

Eric laughs and the sound vibrates through me. “That’s what I like about you, princess,” he tells me. “You’re not afraid to say what you’re thinking and you’re not scared of anything.”

“If that were true, the fear simulations would be useless against me,” I shoot back and manage to hike myself into an almost upright position, but my grip on the back of his stiff jacket loosens and I tumble back down again. He stumbles and almost smacks my head into a wall. “Will you put me down?” I snap. “I am beginning to feel dizzy.”

“What are you scared of, princess?” Eric asks, ignoring my last demand and venturing higher up the Pit. The view I am presented with is not comforting.

I am definitely going to die. He is going to drop me and I am going to die.

“Rats,” I bite out and clutch his jacket a little tighter. If I die, I am taking him with me. “I hate rats.”

“They _are_ disgusting,” Eric agrees and turns sharply into a corridor. Thankfully, we are not hanging over the Pit anymore. I will only die when he drops me on my head. “What else?”

“I am sure you can find out if you really want to, Eric, but I would rather not talk about it,” I reply irritably. I feel incredibly lightheaded now. If this continues, it is entirely possible that I may vomit. “Must you carry me, Eric? Am I not getting heavy?”

“You barely weigh anything, princess,” Eric chuckles. “You’re so little.”

I huff and resign myself to being carted around like a sack of potatoes. There is no way for me to escape from his clutches. Even drunk, Eric can easily overpower me. I sigh and hear him give a triumphant laugh. I suppose this is a good distraction from everything that happened today. He always manages to distract me from how broken I really am. Maybe it is because he has never treated me as though I _am_ broken. I have no idea what he sees when he looks at me. I have no idea what to expect from him. Sometimes, he makes me think he is only interested in getting me into his bed. Then, other times, like Visiting Day, he manages to persuade me that there is more to him and that he might actually care about _me_. It has been so long since I have felt as though someone cares whether I live or die.

Eric stops at a door and curses when his attempts to unlock it are proved unfruitful. He stops, adjusts my weight over his shoulder, and tries again. This time, he is successful and manages to push open the door. He strides in and I attempt to gather my bearings, but cannot get the leverage. I am forced into Eric’s mercy, as ever. He sways dangerously and laughs when he almost drops me on the wooden floor. I gasp and grab his jacket tightly, as though that will keep me stable. I am in an incredibly unstable position with no chance of steadying myself. He chuckles and walks with determination to someplace I am unaware of. He drops me suddenly and my body bounces upon collision with a soft bed. I stare up at Eric, stunned, and slam both hands into his chest when he leans down to kiss me.

“No,” I say sternly. Eric smiles innocently and struggles to kiss me still, but I push him back firmly and sit up to move to the edge of the bed. “I am not having sex with you.”

“Then why are you here?” he retorts and clearly thinks that it is a winning argument, because he leans down and manages to kiss me firmly. I manage to wriggle free and put a hand over his mouth to stop him from kissing me again.

“Because you carried me here against my will,” I point out, as though he is not licking my hand. He is. It is incredibly disgusting and makes me shudder, but I will not give in. “You need to go and get some water, then get into bed and sleep this off with no more inappropriate advances made towards me,” I state firmly. “Do you understand?”

Eric shakes his head. His eyes dance wickedly and his tongue traces what feels like letters into my palm. I yank my hand back, finally having enough, and wipe the saliva off on his shoulder. I dodge another kiss and stand swiftly. I brush the wrinkles from my clothes and yelp when he grabs my waist. Once again, my hand covers his mouth and I manage to push him down onto the bed. He grins against my palm and starts unzipping my jacket, but I swat his hands away and gasp when his lips find my throat. Tenderly, gently, he kisses the skin of my neck and pulls me closer by my hips. His legs open and he settles me between them, a hand moving down to caress my bottom. I struggle to dismiss his hands from me and his mouth too, but he is incredibly determined.

“Eric, enough,” I protest and squirm back from him. “Stop it – you are drunk,” I insist firmly and put my hands on his shoulders. I lean down slightly to look him in the eye. “I am going to get you some water, okay? And then you can continue your endeavours to seduce me when you are sober,” I inform him and leave before he can stop me.

“So you _do_ want to fuck me!” Eric calls after me crudely.

I roll my eyes and make my way to the kitchenette in the spacious apartment. It is a large, airy loft space with big windows that lets in lots of natural light. The lights are not on, but the moon shines bright enough and offers me enough to work with. I find some glasses in the cupboard above the sink and fill one with clear, cold water from the tap. I can hear Eric moving around behind me. What is he up to? I am almost afraid to turn and find out, but I do. I immediately blush and turn my face away when I realise that he is stripping. He is currently struggling with his pants, his back to me. His pale skin all but glows in the silvery moonlight. I bite the inside of my cheek and glance back at him. He is masculine and strong and muscular. He is…beautiful.

My cheeks burn at the thought and I shake those emotions off swiftly. I must take the clinical approach. I approach him and am glad my feet are mostly silent on the wooden floorboards. I stand a safe distance from him and his half-nakedness and hold the glass out to him. He sighs and obediently takes it. He gulps the liquid down quickly and hands me the empty glass when he is done. I go back to the kitchen hastily when he drops his pants. My heart pounds furiously against my ribcage. I distract myself with filling the glass up once again so he will have access to water throughout the night and then in the morning. When I turn around this time, he is sprawled across the bed, on top of the covers, in his boxers. I sigh and move back towards him.

“Here,” I say quietly and set the glass on the nightstand. I push his hand away when he reaches for me once more. “No, Eric, you need to sleep,” I tell him gently and manage to pull the covers over him.

“You’re being nice,” Eric mumbles, sounding surprised. He blinks up at me through slightly hazy eyes. I shush him and pull the covers up over his broad shoulders. “You’re so pretty,” he sighs. I stare down at him in shock and feel my cheeks burn. He reaches out and strokes his fingertips across my hot cheek. “Come on, princess, get in,” he grins sleepily and trails his fingers down my neck temptingly.

“Get some sleep, Eric,” I reply and carefully put his hand back on the bed. “There is water on the nightstand if you wake up thirsty, alright?” I tell him softly and avoid the hand that tries to grab my behind. “And stop trying to grope me.”

“I like your bum,” Eric grins and turns onto his side to watch me walk away. “You’re really pretty,” he tells me again.

I blush hotter and try not to look at him, but cannot quite help myself. He is watching me through half-lidded eyes with an intensity that makes my cheeks burn. I hastily look away and start the search for the bathroom, which is actually quite easy to find since there are only a few doors leading off to other rooms. I escape into it gratefully. I can hide here until he is asleep and then I will take his couch for a few hours. It would probably be best to be gone before he wakes in the morning. A sigh ripples through my lips as I make use of the room and even throw some of his dirty laundry into the basket into the corner of the room. I fail to see the difficulty in putting the clothes in the basket. He has thrown them in its general direction. Surely it would be easier to just put them _in_ the basket, rather than having to take the extra effort to place them in the basket later.

The dull, mindless activity proves another good distraction and, by the time I am done, I decide that Eric should be asleep. I leave on silent, bare feet. I leave my shoes outside the bathroom and tiptoe out to his couch. A blanket and pillow are taken from the cupboard I discovered in my search for the bathroom. I remove my jacket and fold it neatly over the back of a chair. I glance over at Eric. He is sleepy soundly and snoring softly. I let out a soft breath of relief and begin getting undressed. Unrepentantly, I take one of his t-shirts. He is the one that dragged me here. He can deal with me borrowing a shirt to sleep in. I fold my clothes and place them on the armchair I draped my jacket over. Eric’s soft t-shirt is slipped on over my head and it falls down almost to my knees.

With a sigh, I settle down onto his couch. It is comfier than the beds in the dormitory. Somehow, that does not surprise me. My body sinks into the soft, plush cushions comfortably and, with Eric’s snores in the background, I go to sleep. I am surprised that I do not dream. I thought that I would dream of Dean’s death, but apparently just Eric’s proximity is enough to chase away any bad dreams. I am grateful for that. I will never tell him, but I am.

 

* * *

 

The sensation of someone bumping into my bed jerks me from sleep. Sleepily, I jolt awake just in time to see Eric stumble into his bathroom. I hear him begin to vomit and sigh. There will be no returning to sleep with that noise. I slide off of the couch and make my way into the kitchen. I get a glass of water and set it on the breakfast bar for when Eric emerges from the bathroom. That done, I begin the search for something to make for breakfast. I am not the best cook, but I am not the worst either. I can cook a decent breakfast, though I have no idea if it will be a good hangover cure. I find bacon and eggs and start cooking. Grease is supposed to help after all. However, I have no idea why I am doing something nice for him. He would not do the same for me.

The smell of bacon and egg soon fills the apartment. It smells good. I pick a piece of bacon off the edge and pop into my mouth. It tastes good too. I put some onto a plate, just as Eric emerges from the bathroom with wet hair and a towel hanging low on his hips. He does not notice me at first. He rubs another towel over his hair and water droplets slowly slide down his chest, arms, and back. Heat floods through my entire body. I know I should look away. He clearly has no idea that I am here and it is a terrible invasion of privacy to stare at him like I am. The problem is I am finding it incredibly difficult to look away. He really is captivating. I have never seen _anyone_ like him. He is so strong and solid and masculine. There is hair on his chest, but I do not find it off putting. I find nothing about him off putting. I should. His personality should be enough to send me running in the opposite direction. Sometimes, I think I find myself drawn to him because I know he is worse than I am.

Eric spots me. He stops, tenses, and stares at me with blatant shock. His eyes widen slightly and he slowly lowers his arm. Triumph sparks in eyes, but it is swiftly followed by something that looks like regret. He blinks and the masks shutter back into place. Does he remember last night? He was extremely intoxicated. Does he know that I rejected him again? He stays silent and goes to get dressed. I turn back to cooking. I can hear him getting dressed behind me. It takes a lot of restraint not to turn and sneak a peek. My cheeks burn at the thought and I force all of my attention on the task at hand. It would be rude and completely inappropriate and I am always chastising him for being so. My cheeks stay hot, though. My entire body feels hot. There is a strange throbbing sensation between my thighs and I know it means. It means I want him. I want him inside of me.

Hands slide around my waist and tug me back against a solid body. “Hey, princess,” Eric’s deep voice murmurs in my ear. His chest vibrates against my back and his hands flatten against my stomach. His lips stroke over the side of my neck and a shiver rolls down my spine.

“We did not have sex,” I tell him bluntly.

Eric lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank god,” he mutters and releases me. I glare at him, insulted. “I want to remember taking your virginity, princess.”

“ _If_ I give it to you,” I retort, still stung.

Strong hands grasp me once more, turning me so I face him, and he kisses me, hard. He tastes like mint toothpaste and mouthwash. “You want me, princess,” he whispers confidently. His eyes meet mine and he squeezes my hips. “You keep fighting it, but you want me,” he says in a low, husky voice. I gulp and find myself frozen in place. “You’re in my apartment, wearing my shirt, and cooking for me,” he continues and trails his fingertips up my side. He lingers on the edge of my breast. My body betrays me by pulling a gasp from my throat and arching slightly. “I know you, princess, and you wouldn’t do something like this for someone you didn’t care about.”

“You do not know me as well as you think you do,” I deny. He grins slightly and kisses me again.

“I know you better than you think,” is his response. I roll my eyes and turn when the bacon begins to burn behind me. “You got toast, princess? I like toast when I have a hangover,” he says cheekily.

“Make it yourself,” I shoot back and swiftly empty the pan. “I have done enough for you.”

“I have got a great view,” Eric allows. I turn, confused, to find him sat at the breakfast bar and staring at me far too intently. “You’ve got great legs,” he smirks and takes a bite out of some bacon.

“You said I was pretty last night,” I find myself saying. He tenses slightly and he looks vaguely embarrassed at the revelation. “You also told me that I smell nice,” I continue and sit opposite him. “But that I taste better than I smell.”

“I was drunk, princess, I didn’t know what I was saying,” Eric says gruffly and does not make eye contact.

“So, you do not think those things?” I ask lightly and feel an almost smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

“Shut up,” Eric snaps, clearly embarrassed. I do. I leave the subject alone and begin eating my breakfast.

My bare toes hook on the cold, metal rungs of the barstool I am sat on and we eat in silence. Part of me thinks that it should feel oppressive, but I feel comfortable. Yesterday has been dismissed to the back of my mind for the moment and all that matters is the here and now. It is strange. I have spent so long living in the past that allowing myself to linger in the present feels abnormal. I watch him from beneath my lashes, hoping it is not too obvious. He is dressed, but that heat still lingers in my body. My eyes flicker to his bed. How easy would it be to persuade him back into it? He has a hangover, but I do not think that would stop him. He is stuffing food into his mouth and drinking coffee at a rapid rate and is looking slightly less grey.

“Is it alright if I use your shower?” I ask when I am done eating. Eric looks at me sharply. Heat shoots through my veins at the sudden desire in his gaze. He could definitely manage if I chose to seduce him. I shake that thought off sharply and stand. I break my eyes away from his and distract myself with putting my plate in the sink. “Well?” I insist and glance at him from the corner of my eye. Direct eye contact is not advisable.

“Well, what?” Eric asks, sounding distracted.

“Shower,” I snap. “Can I use your shower?”

“Feel free, princess,” Eric replies and waves towards the bathroom. “There’s a clean towel in there.”

“Thank you,” I say graciously and move past him. I collect my clothes from the chair. I will have to go to the dormitory to get clean ones.

A hand locks around my bicep and another grabs my clothes, easily wrenching them from my grip. “You can use my clothes,” Eric says smugly. I glare at him suspiciously. “Those are dirty, princess, and I know how much you hate dirt.”

“You just want to brand me,” I retort irritably. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not a possession, Eric?”

“As many times as it takes for it to sink in.”

“And will it?”

“Of course not, princess.”

He kisses me and shoves me into the bathroom. He keeps my clothes. I glare at the door and lock it to prevent him sneaking in while I am showering. I would not put it past him. I move quickly through the bathroom. He has left his boxers directly in the middle of the floor. I pick them up with the tips of my fingers and drop them into the overflowing laundry basket. I wash my hands straight after. Mouthwash is rinsed through my mouth to take the taste of breakfast and bitterness away. There is no hairbrush, so my fingers have to do for getting the tangles from my hair. Once my hair is as tangle free as it is going to be, I strip and step into the shower, switching the water on as I do. It is warmer than the water in the dormitory showers. I am not surprised in the slightest.

The shower is quick and I do not feel guilty for using Eric’s toiletries. The only problem is that I now smell like him. I push the thought away and dry myself off on a big, soft, fluffy towel. It feels so nice against my freshly cleaned flesh. A content sigh slips free. It is so much nicer than the scratchy towels that I can afford on initiate points. I wrap my long, wet hair in the towel and slip my underwear back on, which is when I realise that I have no clothes to change into. The shirt I was wearing has now been contaminated by Eric’s boxers and my clothes were taken by Eric. All clothing options are on the other side of the door with Eric. I was foolish. I made an idiotic, obvious mistake in my determination to keep away from Eric and the temptation he provides.

There is only one option: go out there. It will take courage, but Dauntless has taught me courage. I can take preventative measures. I unwrap the towel from my hair and, despite its dampness, wrap it back around my body to offer some form modesty. It covers more than his shirt did at any rate. I take in a deep, steadying breath and step out of the bathroom on my tiptoes. I move out into the main part of the apartment and find Eric still sat at the breakfast bar. He has toast and another mug of coffee. Sat on the counter beside him is a pile of clean clothes. He looks up when I enter. He smirks slightly and his eyes unashamedly rove over me, lingering on my breasts and naked shoulders. I cannot be irritated. I did the same to him when he was unaware of it.

“Thank you for the clothes,” I mutter reluctantly and grab the pile of clothes from the counter. I freeze when he grabs the towel and almost yanks it free. “Eric,” I warn and turn my head to glare at him. “Let go _now_.”

“You let go,” he retorts mischievously.

“Are you still drunk?” I snap and try to wrench the towel from his grip. “This is sexual harassment.”

“You were staring at me,” Eric smirks. “ _Ogling_ in fact.”

“I did not attempt to steal your towel,” I argue, blushing darkly.

Eric grins wickedly. “I wouldn’t have stopped you if you did, princess.”

“Well, I _am_ stopping you,” I reply and slap his hand away from the towel. “I have to get to training and you have work to do, so _stop it_.”

With that, I march away from him and retreat back into the bathroom. My body leans heavily against the black door when it is safely locked and Eric is on the other side. It takes time for me to cool my burning cheeks and calm my pounding heart. I look down at the clothes he has chosen for me. A pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Simple. Both are far too big and clearly not mine. I still slip them on. The shorts slip down my hips no matter how tightly I draw the strings. The shirt is smaller than the one I slept in, but still falls low on my thighs and swamps my body. I look shapeless in it. I look tiny and…delicate. It is not a description I like. I frown slightly and scrape my wet hair back into a bun, twisting the ends in firmly. It will have to do.

Eric is in the place I left him when I exit the bathroom. He looks up, but I perch on the couch to put my socks on. My shoes are still outside the bathroom. I remove my jacket from my pile of clothes, which has been tossed carelessly on the ground by the couch. I glare at him for that. He just stares at me as I stand and shrug the jacket on. The photograph is still in the pocket. That is all that matters. I fold the blanket I used and set it neatly on the end of the couch with the pillow on top of it. It is all a distraction from the man still staring at me. Do I look that ridiculous? He is the one that gave me the clothes. I glance up at him cautiously and tense when I realise how close he has gotten. How does he do that? He is so large and obtrusive. How can he be so quiet?

“My clothes look good on you, princess,” Eric says smoothly. He strokes his fingertips over the side of my neck and stops when he reaches the neckline of my borrowed shirt. “Really good,” he allows and drags his fingers down my torso. They linger on the tip of my breast, eyes on mine as he tests my reaction. Heat flames through me and I can feel my nipples tightening and hardening. “So fucking good,” he mumbles and kisses me fiercely.

I let him. I return the kiss eagerly and fist my hands into his shirt, one hand at his shoulder and the other between his shoulder blades. My jacket is shucked off and dismissed. The shorts have already slipped down and pool around my ankles. I need him. God. I gasp when his mouth moves to the side of my neck and he manoeuvres me backwards. A sound somewhere between a moan and a gasp escapes me when he nips at a sensitive spot just below my ear. My hands delve beneath his shirt, flattening against his hard abdomen, and I relish the way his muscles jump beneath my touch. I curve my fingers around his waist and let my thumbs press against his lower naval, just above his pants. He palms my breast through the shirt I wear and a loud gasp is pulled from me. My head falls back and my spine arches.

The backs of my knees hit something solid and I lose balance. Eric catches me and carefully lowers me down onto his large, soft bed. It is even better than his couch. I pull at his shirt, lost in a swirl of hormones and heat and _Eric_. He pulls it off obligingly and kisses me before I have a chance to explore him. I will have to do it by touch alone. It is not exactly a hardship. I like the way his chest hair feels beneath my palms. I arch my body up into his and feel one of his hands pushing my shirt up my thighs. My skin burns beneath his touch. It is such a good burn. His knee presses against my core. My head tilts back against the pillows as I wrench my lips away from his to let out a desperate moan. I clutch him tighter and gasp when he presses his knee tighter against me.

My shirt is pooled around my waist, revealing my boring, regulation, black panties. Eric does not pay much attention to them as he pulls my shirt up higher. His eyes flicker up to mine, testing my reaction. I steel my courage, dismiss my nerves, and grab the bottom of the shirt. He moves back slightly and stares as I peel the shirt up and drop it to the ground with his. My underwear is hardly sexy. It is practical and serviceable. It does not feel that way when Eric stares at me with unrestrained desire, however. He touches my waist, stroking his fingers over the skin at first and then firmly palming the flesh. My muscles jump beneath his touch, desperate for more. He touches me confidently. He knows what he is doing. There is no hesitation in any movement. I close my eyes, let my eyes fall closed, and enjoy the sensation. His lips touch my collarbone and his fingers slide the strap of my bra off of my shoulder.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Fuck!” Eric hisses into my skin. “Go away!”

“Eric, you’re late!” Four’s voice snaps through the door. “And Justice is missing! I’m worried about her!”

“The princess can handle herself!” Eric retorts, then scowls a little deeper and looks down at me. “Why would you be worried about her?!”

“She had a tough simulation yesterday!” Four answers. I frown at the memory and escape from beneath Eric to sit on the edge of the bed. “Can you at least open the door?!”

“Fuck’s sake,” Eric mutters darkly and strides towards the door. He uncomfortably adjusts his pants as he does so. He grabs the handle and yanks the door open. Four scowls at him, until the trainer spots me slipping Eric’s shirt back on and then his expression twists into disapproval. “No, I didn’t screw her,” Eric spits before Four can say anything. “ _You_ interrupted that.”

“She’s in a vulnerable emotional state, Eric,” Four hisses. He clearly intends for me not to hear, but I do and tense slightly.

“What happened during her sim yesterday?” Eric demands, ignoring Four’s previous statement. “She got out in good time – I checked.”

“If she wants to tell you, she will,” Four frowns and glances at me uncomfortably as I pull Eric’s shorts back on and grab my jacket. “And you’ll see during her final test anyway.”

“Princess, what the hell happened yesterday?” Eric scowls. He does not like the fact that Four knows something about me that he does not.

“Don’t bully her,” Four protests. “She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

“She can tell me now –”

“ _She_ is stood right here,” I interrupt angrily. My hands fall to hips, which is a movement to keep the shorts up more than anything else. “Eric, I have no desire to talk about what happened in the fear simulation yesterday – it was difficult and left me feeling extremely…broken,” I admit reluctantly. My lips twist at the word. “Four, I appreciate your concern, but I am a big girl and I can make my own decisions, including whether or not to have sex with Eric,” I say severely. “I have been dealing with this emotional state for three years and will continue to do so and my sexual life has nothing to do with it, so kindly keep out of my business, understood?”

“I don’t want him taking advantage of you,” Four defends and glares at Eric suspiciously. “And it’s hardly appropriate.”

“Neither is your favouritism towards Tris, but I am not using that against her,” I retort. “I could bring it up to Peter and see what he does with the information, if you like,” I threaten unrepentantly. I watch him tense and pale slightly and his eyes narrow on me. “I do not want to, Four, but I will if you continue to think that there is one rule for you and another for Eric.”

“Understood,” Four agrees reluctantly. “Training starts in fifteen minutes – try not to be late.”

With that, Four walks away and Eric slams the door shut. “What happened yesterday?” he repeats. “Is it why you’ve suddenly appeared in my apartment? Why you suddenly want to fuck me?”

He sounds angry, _hurt_ even.

“No, I am in your apartment because I bumped into you and Nate while you were both extremely intoxicated and you decided to carry me back here like some sort of Neanderthal,” I answer and smooth my wet hair back into place. “I was avoiding the dormitory because Peter had something unsavoury planned and I found you both skulking around near the Dauntless born dormitory.”

“What did Peter have planned?” Eric scowls. “If he hurt you –”

“I do not know,” I sigh and stand in front of Eric. He is so big, so strong, and so solid. He can protect me, even from myself. I raise up onto tiptoes and kiss him softly. “I can take care of myself, Eric, but I did not want to deal with him yesterday – I was just exhausted and felt so drained.”

“How did you know he had something planned?” Eric demands, hands falling on my hips. “Why were you up so late anyway?”

“I left the compound for a few hours,” I admit. His eyes narrow on me. “It is to do with yesterday’s simulation and the fact that I needed to just be alone for a while, even in a place that causes me the most pain,” I sigh softly and bite the inside of my cheek. “I went to the place my brother died,” I whisper. It hurts to say it. I can feel myself retreating. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. Shields are slamming into place and blocking me off from him. “I came back in the early hours and realised Peter’s and Drew’s beds were empty, so I retreated and saw them run past where I was hiding,” I continue in a cold, bland voice. “I was going to sleep in the training area, which is when I found you and Nate.”

“You had a brother?”

“Not now, Eric, please, just not now.”

I think the pleading desperation is what stops Eric continuing his questioning. He lets me go and put my shoes on. When I return, he is fully dressed and looks as he always does. He zips up his jacket, places a hand on the small of my back, and guides me from his apartment. The locking mechanism automatically snaps into place and he steers me down the unfamiliar corridors. We are silent, but his hand stays on my back. He is steady and present and stays at my side. I look up at him as we enter the waiting room and the other initiates blatantly gape at us. Peter’s eyes flare dangerously and his jaw tightens in rage. I cast him an uninterested glance and sit in the last space available beside Christina.

“Wow, you guys really are shameless,” Peter spits out.

“If we were shameless, I’d be fucking her right now,” Eric drawls. I blush and glare at him. “Four had to interrupt,” he continues and glares at the man in question as he emerges from the simulation room. “ _This_ fucking close to finally getting in her goddamn pants,” he mutters. I punch him in the thigh. “And that’s the closest I’m ever going to get if things continue like they have been,” he says bitterly. “Pete, let’s go, I’ve got to enjoy torturing someone and you’re at the top of my list.”

“Eric,” Four protests, but Eric is already dragging Peter off to the second simulation room. Four sighs in defeat and looks at the rest of us. “Uriah, come on,” he says and a Dauntless born boy bounces into the room after the trainer.

I slump in my seat and try to ignore the looks of everyone else.

 

* * *

 

 

Four people go in to be tested by Four before I am called in. I am reluctant. I am torn between wanting to see Dean again and wanting to run away as fast as possible. Four seems to sense this, but he does not mention it. He also does not mention what we spoke of earlier. I perch in the chair and tilt my head to the side so that he can insert the needle. It slides in easily and there is only the slightest pinch. It is uncomfortable, but not painful. It is what waits on the other side that is painful. The thoughts makes my stomach knot and my heart beat a little faster. My fingers dig into the leather chair, even as drowsiness seeps into my brain to force my eyes closed and my body falls limp against the chair. It is not as comfortable as Eric’s couch.

Something hits my chest. My eyes snap open, just as dirt is thrown down on top of me. I am at the bottom of a hole that is six feet, at least. There are some people shovelling earth down on top of me. I cannot see their faces, but they are dressed in white. Are they not a part of any faction? They are only dressed in white and a Candor would always incorporate black into their wardrobe. The people are not important. I can deal with them once I have clawed my way out of this hole. I stand, but I cannot reach the edge even with my fingertips. I am far too small. I strain onto my tiptoes and claw at the earth at the sides of my grave. I am stood in my own grave. The thought makes my heart pound a tattoo of fear against my ribcage and I redouble my efforts to escape. I should get enough of a running start if I go lengthways down the hole. I shall just have to keep an eye on the people in white.

I back up to the head of the grave and run down the length of it to take a leap at the other end. My fingers latch into the grass and I heave myself up. I sense movement to my right and look up. A man in white with average, bland features swings a shovel at my head. I gasp and feel my grip give way on the grass. I tumble back down and groan in pain when I collide with the hard earth. The soil is thrown down quicker and in bigger portions now. I could try to jump out again and get the shovel off of the man in white that attempts to stop me. I refuse to be buried alive. This is something that I refuse to accept. I am in control of my own life and they will not take that from me. I will die when _I_ say I shall.

My eyes narrow on them in a hateful, resentful glare and I take another leap. Another shovel swings for my head, but I manage to flatten my body against the grass and roll out of its way. The man’s facial expression does not falter in the slightest. It is disconcerting. He is like a robot. I dodge another swing of the shovel and kick him in the crotch. I push myself up and slam my shoulder into his chest. One hand wraps around the shovel, while the other is used to punch him in the face. His head snaps back. I yank the shovel from his grip and hit him as hard as I can across the face. He hits the ground with blood pooling around his head. The others are turning towards us and I face them. I adjust my grip on the shovel and take a deep breath to calm myself down. I cannot fight properly if I am overemotional. I lift the shovel and wait for the first attack.

A jolt of awareness rocks through my body and the simulation room at Dauntless comes into focus. Four is beside me, offering me a cup of water, as per usual, and there are no strange, robotic men in white with shovels. I breathe a sigh of relief and sip on the water. A shudder slips down my spine. It was horrible. I shake my head and look at Four questioningly. He seems to understand. He looks at the computer screen, while I finish off the water and throw the plastic cup into the trash. I wait patiently for him to discover the information I want. I recline in the chair and adjust the baggy shorts I wear. I look completely ridiculous. It is all Eric’s fault. He never should have dragged me to his apartment.

“You were quicker today than you were the first two times,” Four states brusquely. “You’re improving, Justice, you should be proud.”

“Thank you,” I answer and begin to stand, but guilt suddenly tugs at me. I stop in front of the door. “Four, I would like to apologise for what happened earlier in Eric’s apartment,” I say abruptly. I face him and he stares at me with obvious shock. “I spoke out of turn and should never have said what I did about Tris – I would never tell Peter, because he is utterly repellent and, honestly, Tris is one of the only people I can stand to be around,” I say bluntly. “I also do not find your company completely intolerable, so I would not put either of you in the position that I am currently in with Peter,” I pause and feel a tiny, wry smile tug at my lips. “That is my battle and I will handle it without dragging Tris into it.”

“We aren’t – we aren’t like you and Eric,” Four mumbles, blushing. “I don’t think she feels that way about me.”

I roll my eyes at his obliviousness. “Four, I will look over your obtuseness because you were clearly not Candor born,” I inform him archly and look at him sternly, hands on hips. He seems insulted. I do not particularly care. “She likes you – do something about it,” I tell him and leave the room. “Tris, he would like to see you next,” I take the liberty to say and walk away before Four can argue with me.

It is almost lunchtime. I will get something to eat and then do some much needed laundry. Maybe I will find Nate at some point and discover how he is coping with his hangover. The blonde girl’s knuckles were newly bruised and freshly scabbed this morning. I cannot blame her if she hit Nate. I would have too. I do not see Nate. However, I do get some looks for wearing some clearly male clothing, but I ignore them to the best of my ability and get a sandwich and a bottle of water to go. People continue to stare as I make my escape. Do they know that they are Eric’s clothes? They seem generic. He has not got his name plastered across the fabric. At least, I do not think he has. It would not surprise me if he has.

The dormitory is surprisingly occupied when I enter. Al is curled up on his bed and shaking. He is not handling the simulations well. Should I offer him comfort? I have no words that would provide it, so I wordlessly collect my dirty clothes and go into the bathroom to start my laundry. When I run the water, he begins to cry. I think that he believes the running water will muffle the sound, but it does not. I feel uncomfortable. I do not deal with my own emotions well, let alone someone else’s. I distract myself with the laundry and pause when I spot my new tattoo. It is still slightly red around the edges, but looks less angry than it did when it was freshly carved into my skin. I stare at it, my eyes tracing my brother’s name in the thread, and feel sadness and grief clutching at me.

I shake it off. I will not be like Al – crying pathetically in the middle of the dormitory. My focus is on the task at hand. It has to be. All of those feelings and emotions have been discarded for so long that they can continue to be. They have to be, or I will never make it through initiation. So, I scrub at my dirty clothes and hang them over one of the bathtubs to dry. I change into some of the only clothes I have left clean. A pair of high waist shorts with studs across the right leg and a loose crop top that slips off one shoulder and falls just over the waistband of my shorts. I bought the outfit because it was on sale and I thought it looked nice. It is easy to move in and my photograph fits easily to the back pocket of the shorts.

When I leave the bathroom with Eric’s clothes folded over my arms, Tris is attempting to comfort Al and looks awkward doing it. She sits on the edge of his bed and pats his shoulder uncomfortably. He has, at least, stopped crying, but his face is blotchy and tears still cling to his eyelashes. I sigh silently and set Eric’s clothes on my bed, which I perch on to pull my boots on. Tris looks at me warily. I arch an eyebrow in response and lace my boots tightly. She purses her lips disapprovingly and my tolerance levels for her are rapidly dropping at that look on her face. She is judging me. She has no right to judge me. I have been…civil to her, which is more than I can say I have been to others.

“Don’t tell Eric,” Tris says, harsher than I believe to be strictly necessary.

My gaze meets hers as I release my hair from its bun and put it into its usual ponytail. “You think I am some sort of spy?” I ask frostily and stand. “Funnily enough, Eric and I do not spend a lot of time discussing my fellow initiates.”

“Just don’t tell Eric about this, okay?” Tris insists, frowning at me. “Al doesn’t need that kind of scrutiny.”

“He will be factionless if he does not stop crying like a child,” I retort bitingly. Al flinches and curls into a smaller ball. Tris glares at me through frosty eyes. “And I had no intention of telling Eric about this,” I add and stride from the dormitory.

It is only the middle of the afternoon, which means training is not yet over. I decide to go shopping. I have only a few points left, but I should be able to find a few toiletries and maybe some cosmetics. I left all of my makeup at Candor and have not bought anymore since joining Dauntless. I almost miss fixing myself to look like someone different. It is vain, but I am hardly Abnegation. I stride through the hallways and enter the retail section of the Pit. It is not that busy at this time and I easily make my way through the stores. The girl behind the counter eyes me suspiciously. I ignore her and pick my way through the cheapest items that I can cope with. Too cheap will make my skin break out and too expensive will be unaffordable.

I take my time and, throughout the shopping trip, the girl behind the counter glares at me. What exactly have I done to her? She scowls at me when I finally approach the counter. I notice that she is not that much older than I am. Her hair is short, falling just to her chin, and black with neon green stripes through it and blocky bangs. She has a slightly upturned nose, which has a piercing through it, and her ears are completely littered with studs and hoops. Tattoos line her arms, which are bared due to the tank top she wears, and there is more ink over her chest, also revealed due to her tank top. She straightens and looks down her pierced nose at me, but begins to total up the items. She practically slams the things into the bag, almost ripping it in the process, and glowers at me the entire time.

“You know he’s never going to stay with you,” the woman spits as she takes the points from my account. I raise an eyebrow in silent question. “You’re just some little initiate he’s using to get his rocks off and, then when it’s all over, he’ll come crawling back to me,” she practically hisses like an angry cat and her green eyes simmer with angry heat.

“I am under no illusions as to exactly what Eric wants from me,” I answer coolly. She can only be talking about Eric. “But, what happens between us is none of your concern and certainly none of your business,” I state icily. “And I very much doubt that Eric goes crawling to anybody, so I am going to assume that you were the one that was crawling all over him and got rejected,” I continue and hold up a hand to silence her snarled retort. “That was not my doing and taking your anger out on me is not going to change that, so I suggest you move on and keep me out of your issues,” I finish, pick up my things, and walk away before she can say another word.

Frustration pumps through me with every stiff stride towards the dormitory. I hope Al is gone. I might snap at him for being a coward and that will only serve to alienate me even more. I wonder if I can stay at Eric’s again tonight. His couch is so comfortable and it will give me the opportunity to avoid Peter for a while. Is that cowardice? Hopefully Eric will not question it. I just have to find him. I sigh at the thought and make my way down the Pit. I could easily find my way to Eric’s apartment from here. I remember the paths from our trek to the fear simulation rooms. That would be foolish and desperate, however, and I will not reduce myself to that. A snort escapes at the mere idea of it, but I want to get away. I am sick of that dormitory and the people in it.

A disgusting smell hits me as I step over the threshold of the dormitory. My nose wrinkles at the assault on my sense of smell. A hand comes up to cover my nose and a frown of disgust twists my face. It smells like… _urine_. Has someone had an accident? I step further into the dormitory and stop when I spot my bed. It is soaked and the stench of urine all but pulsates from it. My clothes are thrown into the mess too and are unsalvageable. They have been ripped and pulled apart. Even my shoes and Eric’s clothes are involved in the disaster. I step closer, though I have no real want to, and frown when I see something white on my underwear. What is that? I realise all at once and recoil back with a cough of disgust.

It is semen. Someone has masturbated on my underwear.

I escape. I turn on my heel and I flee. It is not obvious, but I am walking slightly faster than usual. I do not know if I am angry, disgusted, or _afraid_. It is a terrible, nauseating cocktail of all three. I want to hit something and I want to run and I want throw up. I feel… _violated_. A shudder rushes through me and I clutch my shopping bag so tightly the handles dig painfully into my palm. I go up the Pit. I go to Eric’s apartment. No one answers when I knock on the door, so I lean against it and wait. It is not something I wanted to do, but there is no way that I can go back to the dormitory now. I cannot clean up that mess with everyone staring and secretly thinking that I deserve it. Perhaps I do.

The bag of toiletries and cosmetics is swung aimlessly back and forth while I wait. I have no idea how long I wait, just that I have no other choice but to. Will it always be this way? Will I always be pushed out and hated and despised? I am used to being alone, but this level of hostility is something else. I feel debased. Eric is crude and has no issues saying exactly what it is he expects from me, but someone masturbated into my underwear. It was not done out of desire. It was done as an act of intimidation and it has worked. I wish it was not working. I wish I could dismiss it as easily as I dismiss the cruel words and snide remarks, but this is not so easily dismissed. This is far more personal. This is a direct attack. I know who did it. Perhaps I should confront him. He should be at dinner by now.

My temper wins. It does not usually, but today it does. It gives me tunnel vision and makes my heart pound and my veins fizz with humiliated rage. How _dare_ he do this? How _dare_ he? My hands curl into tight fists as I stride into the dining area and spot my prey immediately. I toss my bag into Tris’ lap as I pass her. I vaguely hear her call my name, alarmed, but I have already grabbed the back of his neck and slammed him face first into the table. Blood gushes. People shout. I grab the knife he was using and wrench his head back by his soft, black hair. He freezes when the knife is pressed against his throat and his eyes meet mine. I wonder what he sees. Does he see death at my hand? Does he see fear?

“You are a snivelling little coward, Peter,” I hiss. Drew lunges for me. I twist and drag Peter with me. My foot slams into Drew’s throat and Peter tries to squirm free, but freezes when I dig in the knife hard enough to draw blood. “A pathetic, weak, trembling little _coward_ ,” I continue and pull his head back further. He is completely at my mercy. “You will clean up that mess you made and I will consider not chopping your tiny testicles and cock off,” I state and smash his face into the table again when he attempts to fling his weight back into me. Oh no. He is not winning this. “I am _done_ brushing everything off, understood? The next time you so much as _breathe_ in my direction, this knife is going through your throat, because, Peter, I am not like you,” I inform him coldly. “When I stab someone, I will aim to kill.”

With that, I toss him and the knife aside and march from the silent dining area. It is the first time anywhere Dauntless has been quiet in my experience. It is strange. I can feel the eyes of everyone in that room on me and the crowd parts for me. There is blood on my hands and spattered over my arms and legs. I ignore it all, the looks and the slow rising of whispers and mutters, and go back to Eric’s apartment. This time, I slide to the ground against the wall to the left of the door. My knees are pulled up to my chest and I hug them tightly, just for some semblance of comfort. I am going to be in so much trouble. I should have asked Eric to handle it properly instead of losing my temper, but I did not want to go running to Eric to handle my problems for me. I messed up. I have messed up so terribly.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

Eric is back. His furious bark jerks me from the light doze I had fallen into. My body is achy and stiff from being in an awkward position for so long. It hurts to even attempt to stand, but he grabs my bicep and hauls me roughly to my feet. I wince and stagger into his apartment when he throws me through the door. My body stumbles and crashes to its hands and knees on the wooden floorboards. Even that does not offer me a reprieve. My knees are split open, but he drags me up by the arm and shakes me sharply. He glares down at me. His eyes are icy with rage and burn with it at the same time. His fingers are too tight around my upper arms and I know he is leaving bruises.

“Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?” he hisses and shakes me again. “I’ve just had to persuade Max and the others that you aren’t a complete psychopath!”

“He –”

“I don’t give a damn what he did!” Eric interrupts furiously and lets me go. I stumble back and grab the back of the couch to stay upright. “You broke his nose, you know that? You threatened to _kill_ him in front of the entire fucking faction!”

“He violated my personal belongings,” I protest. Eric snorts. “He pissed on my bed and on my clothes and he masturbated into my underwear,” I bite out through gritted teeth. “I have been listening to his snide comments and insults and blatant accusations that I am _fucking_ you to secure my place here and this was the last straw,” I continue. Eric’s face is dangerously blank, but his eyes are getting colder and colder. His jaw is tight and there is a muscle ticking in it. “He made me feel like – he made me feel _dirty_ ,” I force out and my lips twist hatefully at how pathetic I feel. “I am done being his whipping dog.”

“He jerked off into your underwear?” Eric asks in a dangerously soft voice. I nod. He lets out a low, humourless laugh and shakes his head slowly. “You, stay here,” he orders and heads to the door.

“Eric, no!” I protest and position myself in front of the door. “You are not going to fight my battles for me and I do not need you to,” I insist. He glares and grabs my arm, pulling me out of the way. “If you do this, you are just proving him right!” I cry and wrap my hands around his arm tightly. “Everyone will just think that my place here is because of you and I will not be the whore that fucked her way through initiation for the rest of my life!”

Eric stops, thankfully, because he was about to pull me over. Hesitantly, I tug on his arm and he turns towards me. He is breathing faster than normal, but not by much, and his nostrils are flared. I do not know how to make this better. I do not know why he is so angry, but I cannot say that I am ungrateful for it. Slowly, I raise up onto tiptoes and touch my lips to his. He is tense against me, but he places a hand on my waist and his fingers clench around the flesh to keep me there. It takes time, but he begins to respond to the kiss and moves a hand to the side of my neck. His thumb strokes over my cheek, a little rougher than he usually does, but I do not mind. His kiss is hard and he swiftly takes control. I let him. I need him to. It is exhausting clutching this control all the time. It is slowly breaking and I need to let it go, just for a little while. He will not judge me if I do. He will probably be glad of it. It means he has won. I push that thought away and arch into him in a silent plead.

It is slow, but it is not gentle. Eric moves with purpose. He bites my bottom lip, before his mouth moves to the side of my neck. I gasp softly and let my head fall to the side, eyes closing. My breath escapes on a soft gasp and his fingers bite into my waist to hold me against him. My hands stroke over his broad shoulders and down his chest. He squeezes my flesh lightly and one hand travels up to the side of my neck, while the other slips down to curve around my hip. I sigh softly and dig my fingertips into his sides when he sucks a mark into the flesh over my pulse spot. A moan leaves me. It is soft and sounds more like a sigh than a proper moan. It makes his hands tighten on me, however, and he palms my bottom and squeezes firmly. Heat slowly seeps through my veins and leaves me melting into him.

A startled noise escapes me when Eric easily lifts me and settles me on his hips. My legs slowly wind around him and my lips find his once more. My nose brushes against his before our mouths meet. It feels good, being kissed by him, having his hands on my body, and feeling his strength against me. My hands curve around the back of his neck and my thumbs stroke over his stubbly cheeks. He kisses me harder and his tongue takes control of my mouth. My own tongue pushes back against his and one hand fists into his shirt at the shoulder when his hands curve over my behind. He is walking. I assume he is taking us to the bed. Heat pulses through me at the mere memory of what was happening in that bed just this morning. We will finish what we started and I am looking forward to it.

My body is lowered down onto the bed, one of his large hands moving to cradle the back of my head. Eric pushes at my legs lightly and I obligingly unwrap them from around his waist. I make a soft sound of protest when he stops kissing me. I want him to kiss me. He smirks slightly and touches his lips to my forehead lightly, before he stands and shrugs his jacket off. The material heaps on the ground and his shirt soon joins it. He toes off his boots and I feel a breathless laugh escape me when his body falls on mine. There is a grin on his lips when he kisses me again. The heavy tension is fading with each kiss and every touch. He nibbles at my throat and moves down to my collarbone. My top is slid out of the way as he does and he uses one hand to delve beneath the bottom. I gasp and arch when his fingers slide over my ribcage and linger on the bottom of my bra.

“I must admit that I love this outfit,” Eric smirks down at me. I roll my eyes. “I mean it – it’s extremely accessible.”

“I had laundry to do – it was all I had left,” I retort. Neither of us mention that these clothes really are all I do have left. He just pushes his hands up further until the top reveals my practical, serviceable bra. It is not a sports bra, but it is not exactly sexy. It does not stop Eric from staring at me. “Stop staring,” I say uncomfortably and squirm beneath him. He catches my waist to hold me still and drops a kiss between my breasts. My eyes flutter at the contact and a gasp is pulled out of me when his tongue touches my skin. My hands slip into his short hair and he moves down my body. “Oh,” I let out on an exhale and let my eyes fall closed.

Eric sucks marks into my flesh. He takes his good sweet time. By the time he actually reaches the waistband of my shorts, I am trembling with need for him to touch the aching spot between my legs. He leans back to let me kick off my shoes, but distracts me with kisses across my neck and shoulder. He peels my shirt up and off before I even have the first shoe off. I just about manage to get the second shoe off before we fall back onto his bed and his mouth starts its descent again. He begins at my neck this time and reaches around my back for the clasp of my bra. I arch up to make it a little easier for him and he is soon sliding the garment off my shoulders and down my arms. He stares again. I kiss him to make him stop. He grins a little against my lips, as though he knows what I am doing. He lets me. He lets my hands slide through his hair and down his neck and across his broad shoulders.

My body sings for more. Eric is willing to give it. His teeth scrape across my naval as he unbuttons my shorts and slides a hand in. It feels strange. His fingers are so different to my own. I shift slightly and then stop when he pushes a finger inside of me. _That_ definitely feels different. My breath hitches in my throat. The thick, blunt, masculine digit sinks in all the way to the knuckle. It feels odd, but good, so good. My hips rock into his hand of their own accord and I can feel him pulling my shorts down further. His lips flutter across the lower portion of my naval, occasionally nipping or licking. The assault of sensations is enough to leave me trembling beneath him and gasping his name. My hands grip his hair – the only part of him I can reach, but he does not seem to mind.

He adds another finger. My spine arches sharply and a loud moan is wrenched out of me. My head falls back against the bed and my eyes close and I am lost in him. I am completely at his mercy. When his mouth touches me, I almost cry. He uses one hand to pin one of my legs flat against the mattress, the other’s fingers still moving inside of me. My free leg is slung over his shoulder and gripping him tighter and tighter. I need him closer. I need him inside of me. I need to touch him. There’s this heat tightening and throbbing inside of me and I need it released. I keep saying his name, pleading with him. He doesn’t even look at me, just continues with his ministrations.

The heat pulsates strongly and then bursts. A sound that is almost scream comes rushing out of my mouth as my body arches and my hands fist into his short hair. My whole body quivers and quakes. My skin feels overly sensitive. My muscles jump lazily when he drags his lips over my ribs, up my neck, and finally onto my mouth. He tastes musky and slightly bitter. Is that what I taste like? My nose wrinkles slightly. He just grins smugly and shifts his hips against mine. He is naked, just like I am. I’m not entirely sure when that happened and I don’t particularly care. I can feel him pressed against my wet entrance and I want him inside of me. I whine in protest when he reaches past me. He laughs lowly and kisses my forehead again. I glare at him impatiently.

“Condom, princess,” Eric states, yanking open a drawer on his nightstand. Fine. He can have that one. He groans when I kiss his throat, tracing his tattoos with my lips, teeth, and tongue, while he puts the condom on. I just want to touch him. I want to taste him. I lathe my tongue over the apple in his throat and huff when he pushes me back down onto the bed. “You sure you’re a virgin, princess?” he smirks, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Yes and unless you want me to stay that way, hurry up,” I retort impatiently and sigh gratefully when he settles against me once more. I feel him slide against my entrance and spread my legs a little wider to let him closer. “Eric,” I sigh breathlessly, arching my hips up to his pleadingly.

He shifts slightly and grabs my thigh to adjust the placement of my legs over his waist. He kisses me again, parting my lips with his, and my hands slide across his neck and shoulders. Then, he thrusts into me, sharp and fast, and a startled, slightly pained noise leaves me. It is painful, but not as much as I thought it would be. It is mostly uncomfortable and unfamiliar. It feels invasive and intrusive. My thighs clench around his waist, unsure whether to push him away or drag him closer. My nails drive into his shoulders and my teeth bite down on the inside of my cheek. I keep my eyes closed and let out a strained gasp when he begins to move. He goes slowly, giving me the time to adjust to him and the unfamiliar sensation of being filled like this. He is too big, or I am too little. I cannot decide which is correct.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Eric pants, breath puffing against my hair as he thrusts into me slowly. I clutch him tightly and try to figure what to do. There has to be some way to alleviate the tugs of minor pain I feel. “You need to move, princess, it’ll feel so good,” he says hoarsely against my ear. He pulls my leg higher over his waist, bending my knee up further over his ribs, and he sinks a little deeper into me. I gasp and my fingers dig deeper into his shoulders. “Just move your hips with mine,” Eric orders. I nod and try to obey. It still feels strange, but I want him to feel good. “Fuck,” he groans and I think it feels good for him.

Eric kisses me hard, fingers biting into the underside of my thigh, and it is at odds with the slow thrusts of his hips. I can tell how he is restraining himself. His muscles are tight with control as he attempts not to make me uncomfortable, or hurt me. At least, that’s what I think he’s doing. My hands smooth over his shoulders and down his back, feeling his strength and tension. He wants to do more. He’s holding back for me. I kiss him, cupping his cheek in one hand. There is even tension in his jaw. He breaks away from my lips, panting slightly, and I stare up at him. Sweat beads across his forehead and his expression is that of concentration.

“It’s okay, Eric, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” I say. It’s not a complete lie. It’s uncomfortable, but not painful, not really.

“Yeah?” he pants. I nod and bite the inside of my cheek when he immediately starts moving faster. His hips hit mine a little more forcefully and, this time, it does hurt slightly. “You’re so tight,” he hisses again. My hands tighten on his biceps and his eyes flicker up to mine, but he doesn’t slow down. He pushes in deeper and presses sloppy kisses into my neck. “Next time,” he says suddenly. I frown up at him, confused, and gasp when the head of his penis hits something so deep inside of me. Heat hesitantly sparks through my veins at the sensation. “I’m gonna make you come next time,” he promises roughly.

A breathless laugh escapes me and I kiss him quickly. “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?” I tease breathily. A hoarse chuckle leaves him and he drives a little harder into me.

“There will be, princess,” he states and shifts so he is on his knees and his hands grip my hips. A strangled cry escapes me at his forceful thrusts. “I’ll make you come next time.”

I just moan slightly and my hands find his on my hips. He lets my fingers thread through his on one hand and he leans back over me, placing our joined hands beside my head. They get tangled in my hair, which I dazedly realise is still in its ponytail. I almost scream when he finds that spot again. My nails drive into his hand and his forearm and my body arches slightly. My hips roll up into his a little easier now. I want more. I want that heat he made me feel with his fingers and tongue. He can give me that. I know he can. I arch up and manage to fit my lips against his jaw. It’s about the only part of him I can reach when he isn’t leaning into me. He’s so big. He’s so big and masculine and strong. Heat simmers in my stomach at the thought and the taste of his sweat on my lips.

“ _Justice_ ,” Eric gasps suddenly. My breath hitches in my throat at the sound. He’s never said my name before, not once. Now, he’s saying it as he comes and his body curves over mine. “Fuck,” he pants, kissing me hungrily, and I cling to him. “So fucking tight,” he groans and presses his forehead against the curve of my neck. His piercings are cold against my heated flesh.

Slowly, Eric disengages himself from me and removes the condom, tossing it into a nearby trash can. I roll onto my front and smile a little when he lays back beside me, our arms brushing. I support my weight on my elbows and look down at him. He has his eyes half-closed and wears a smug, satisfied grin. He flattens a hand against the small of my back, fingers brushing over the top of my bottom. A shiver darts down my spine and my skin prickles lazily. I lean into him slightly and my eyes move down to the rumpled, black sheets beneath us. Is this the part where he throws me out? Tells me to handle my issues alone? That he is no longer interested, because he has gotten what he wanted? My teeth bite the inside of my cheek and my fingers press the wrinkles in the fabric below me.

Lips touch my shoulder and the fingers on my back trace seemingly random shapes into my sweaty, heated flesh. “You should get a tattoo right here,” Eric states. “Something I can look at when I fuck you from behind.”

I snort and glance up at him, elbowing him in the side. “I have two tattoos and, at present, I do not feel the need for more,” I reply and feel his eyes sweep over me. No one really knows I have a new tattoo. No one except Bud, who did it. “Here,” I say and hold my wrist out to show my newest tattoo. “I got it for my little brother,” I tell him quietly.

Eric’s fingers easily close around my wrist and he sits up to inspect my new decoration. “Dean?” he asks. My heart clenches, but I nod. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

“He got hit by a car when he was nine,” I say shortly. There is more. There is always more. “That day was the first day I ever lied in my whole life,” I hear myself saying quietly. It is true. “I told him that he would be fine, that everything was going to be okay, and it was a big lie – the last thing he ever heard was me lying to him.”

“So? Better than telling a kid that he’s gonna die, right?” Eric snorts and strokes his thumb across the broken heart inked into my wrist. I look at him, startled, and feel sudden gratitude surge through me. My parents did not see it that way. They were furious when they realised that I had lied to their son in his last, dying moments. “Are you fucking serious? Candor hated you for that?” he scowls suddenly.

“My parents did not appreciate it, no,” I admit. “They – they hated me for it.”

“The kid was dying, princess,” Eric says impatiently. “Maybe those lies made sure he didn’t die scared.”

I throw my arms around him before I stop myself. He has to put a hand on the bed to make sure we do not go crashing down, but he lets me hug him in silent gratitude. He relaxes when I kiss him firmly and then laughs when I announce I have to use the bathroom. I wriggle free and grab his shirt to slide on as I make my way to the bathroom. I pull my hair free and step into the bathroom. The lock is clicked into place and my eyes find my reflection in the mirror over the sink. I look thoroughly kissed and rumpled and there are marks on my neck, but there is no certain sign that I have just lost my virginity. I do not feel different, but there is a dull ache between my legs. Besides, everyone thinks I have been having sex with Eric since day one.

It does not take long to clean myself up and use the facilities. Suddenly, I feel nervous about going back out there. Will he kick me out now? He does not seem like the type to often let women stay over. I find my Dauntless courage and head back out to meet him, only to stop in shock when I find him preparing some food in his boxers. He rolls his eyes when he spots my surprise and points at some uncooked sausages in a silent command to get on with cooking. I obey and begin cooking, surprised at how hungry I am. I take a slice of ham from the packet he has just opened and raise an eyebrow when he glares at me. I eat the ham and continue cooking the sausages. We end up sprawled across his bed, eating and talking and kissing and touching. It feels nice.

 

* * *

 

There are fingers on my back. I can feel them moving slowly up and down the dimple in my spine. My eyes crack open slightly to find my assailant. There, lounged on the soft, warm bed beside me, is Eric. He reclines against the metal headboard of the bed, supported by numerous pillows, and reads through some papers, which he has rested on one, raised knee. His fingers continue tracing up and down my spine without even looking at me. It feels nice. I sigh softly and let my eyes fall closed once again, but the fingers pause on my back and then dip a little lower. They stroke over the curve of my bottom slowly and deliberately. I sigh, open my eyes, and look at him questioningly. He still has yet to look up from his papers. Apparently, they are far more interesting than I am.

“Where is the comforter?” I ask sleepily. Eric finally looks at me and flashes me that mischievous smirk that really should not send heat shooting creeping through my veins. “I fell asleep with it, I am certain.”

“I moved it – you looked warm,” Eric responds with a shrug. I roll my eyes and brush my messy hair out of my face.

“Liar,” I accuse with a yawn and shift closer to his warmth. His hand flattens on my behind. “Are you hinting at something?”

“I thought you’d never ask, princess,” he smirks and tosses the papers aside.

I turn just in time to meet his lips in a firm kiss, my nose wrinkling slightly at the morning breath that passes between us. There is an ache between my legs, but it is subtle and I can handle it. I cradle his strength between my thighs and spread my hands over his ribs. His heart beats quickly beneath my splayed fingers, anticipation tripping through his blood, and I feel it too. My breathing quickens, as does my heartbeat, and I gasp when his fingers sink inside of me. My back arches and his lips fasten onto one of my nipples. My gasp turns into a soft moan and my thighs clench around his waist. My body is still sensitive from last night. It does not take long for me to fall apart beneath his hands. He smirks smugly against my breast and, while I am coming down from my high, he turns me onto my front and hikes my butt up into the air.

Hot lips touch the back of my naked shoulder, seconds before Eric plunges into me and pulls a loud cry from my lips. It still hurts a little, still feels strange, but it feels good. I gasp and press my face into the pillows, which smell of last night’s sex. My fingers clench into the sheet and I almost scream when he finds a spot inside of me that makes stars pop against my eyelids. My spine arches, pushing my bottom against him. He groans and guides me sharply. I get the sense that it is still watered down for him, unwilling to make things too uncomfortable for me, and I appreciate that. I want to tell him, but the words are stolen from my throat in a gasping, breathless moan. I want to touch him, but this position leaves me completely unable to and completely at his mercy.

A hand wraps into my hair, pulling my head back. It is a jerky movement, but not painful. Eric’s other hand flattens against the small of my back, holding me in place while he pounds into me. He strikes against that spot again and I cannot muffle my near scream of ecstasy at the sensation. He hits it over and over and I end up almost sobbing into the bed, whimpering Eric’s name and trembling against him. He groans deeply and stops with the tip of his penis left inside of me. He is still hard, throbbing and hot, and he sinks back into me slowly when my orgasm has passed. I am wetter now and he easily sinks into my willing body. I am not entirely sure how much more I can take. I already feel boneless and my body is being completely being manipulated by the man currently inside of me.

“Eric,” I whimper, clawing at the sheets, because there is another orgasm about to take over me and I do not know if I can take it. “ _Eric_ ,” I nearly whine and my body arches and presses back into his desperately. I feel my inner walls flutter and then they clench down on him.

“ _Justice_ ,” Eric hisses out through clenched teeth and I feel him follow me over the edge. I collapse face first on the bed and he drops down beside me on his back. “Told you so,” he pants. I look at him questioningly, panting, and elevate myself onto my elbows. “I told you I’d make you come the second time,” he smirks smugly and I feel myself smile a little.

“Twice,” I allow. His smirk breaks into a grin and he pats my bottom proudly. “What time is it?” I ask, regaining a bit of breath, and look around for a clock. “How long before training starts?”

“An hour or so,” Eric shrugs. “I’ve got time to make you come a third time, fourth, fifth…” he trails off with a grin and kisses my shoulder lingeringly.

“I have to use the bathroom,” I reply and stand, wincing slightly at how my body aches. “I need clothes.”

“No, you don’t,” Eric argues. I give him an unamused look and slip his t-shirt on. “I like you naked.”

“Should I wander Dauntless naked?” I ask. He scowls at that. “I did not think so,” I finish and let myself into his bathroom.

It takes me a little longer to get ready than normal. My body aches in unfamiliar ways and there is an insistent tug between my legs when I move. It takes a lot of control not to show that. There is nothing I can do for the marks on my neck, however. My cosmetics were tossed at Tris before I beat up Peter. I have nothing to hide the way he has branded me. There are fingerprints on various parts of me and he has left multiple marks from his mouth all over me. The clothes I have left will never hide them all. If I wear Eric’s t-shirt, the bottom will fall past the ends of my shorts. I cannot decide which is more inappropriate. I settle on the outfit from yesterday. When I see the marks, I swap the crop top for Eric’s t-shirt and tie the black fabric at the back so you can actually see my shorts.

Eric just raises an eyebrow when he spots me, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. I roll my eyes and comb my fingers through my wet, knotty hair to pull it back into a bun. I really need to find my hairbrush and buy some new clothes. Perhaps I can get Eric to give me an advance on next week’s points, or would that be taking advantage of our newfound intimacy? I have no intention of doing that. A frown creases my face at the thought and I smooth my hair into place, checking my reflection in the window. My hands still when Eric steps up behind me and wordlessly takes my waist, bending his head to press a kiss into the curve of my neck. It is surprisingly gentle and tender. It steals my breath and makes my eyes flutter closed. My body leans back against his.

“We have to go,” I say reluctantly. He grunts and loops his arms around me tightly, fastening his mouth firmer against my neck. “Eric, you have left your fair share of marks on my neck, now stop it,” I sigh, even as my body leans into the touch.

“I have, haven’t I?” he says smugly and nips at a mark over my pulse. I give him a light nudge with my elbow and tilt my head back to meet his gaze. He really is so much taller than I am. I feel tiny next to him. “You look so great in my clothes.”

I squirm away from him and step past him. “No, the last time you said something like this, we ended up half naked on your bed,” I protest and my eyes narrow when he grins at me wickedly. “No,” I insist. “We have to go.”

“We still have half an hour,” Eric shrugs and captures me in his arms, dipping his head to kiss me passionately with a hand around the back of my neck. “Enough time to make you come again,” he mumbles against my lips.

“It is not,” I mutter in response, even as I flatten a palm against his chest and return the kiss. “Eric,” I sigh and catch his hand before it slides up my shirt. “We have to go,” I murmur and feel a breathy laugh escape me when his teeth scrape across my jaw. “Eric,” I state firmly and push him back by his broad shoulders.

“Fine,” he sighs and lets me go. “We’ll finish this later,” he promises and I cannot decide whether or not it is a warning.

“Can you do me a favour?” I find myself saying. He looks at me as we exit his apartment, one eyebrow raising slightly. “You know my clothes were ruined,” I begin and try to ignore the scowl that forms on his face. I cannot tell if he is angry with me or not. “Unfortunately, I already spent this week’s allowance for initiates on this tattoo and some other items, so I cannot replace the items that Peter –” I spit the name out and it leaves a horrible taste in my mouth “– destroyed,” I state and we begin the ascent of the Pit. “I was wondering if it was possible to get an advance in order to replenish my wardrobe.”

“I could transfer Peter’s points to you,” Eric shrugs. I look at him with a mixture of amusement, surprise, and gratitude swirling through me. “It’ll be sorted out by the end of the day.”

“Thank you, Eric,” I reply simply and he nods sharply.

His hand lands on my back, firm and reassuring and so present. I remember that hand there just an hour ago, holding me in place as he thrust into me from behind while I was on my hands and knees before him. It sends heat rushing through my body and makes my skin prickle and tighten. I shift into him before I can even think stop myself. It is as though he is a magnet and I am the unwitting paperclip being dragged towards him. I feel the utterly ridiculous urge to kiss his freshly shaven jaw and taste that skin again. I shake the thought off, but do not extract myself from his grip. His hand feels good on my skin through the soft fabric of my borrowed t-shirt. His touch threatens to burn, but in such a good way. I want to kiss him again. I really need to get a better hold on my hormones. They were never an issue before him.

I barely notice when we reach the waiting room. I do notice the way Eric tenses, however. My eyes flicker up to him and find him glaring hatefully at something. I follow his gaze and find him glowering at the mildly uncomfortable looking Peter. Peter’s nose really is broken. There is a plaster that covers the majority of his face. If I were a pettier, crueller person, I might make a snide comment that he looks better that way. I refrain from doing so, however, and primly sit in a seat beside the gaping Christina. I cross my legs, as though there is not an insistent, mildly uncomfortable tug between my legs, and give Eric a warning look. He had best not interfere. I can handle things myself. His input will only make things ten times worse. He just continues to glare at Peter. There is a muscle ticking in his jaw and his arms are tense as he folds them over his chest.

“Pete,” Eric says smoothly. I sigh, close my eyes, and attempt to pretend that this is not happening.

“I didn’t do it,” Peter spits out. Eric lets out a low laugh of disbelief. I open my eyes slightly. He is closer to Peter now. Oh dear. “She’s a fucking liar.”

“Didn’t do what?” Eric asks calmly. “I didn’t talk much to the princess last night,” he adds suggestively. I glare at him, cheeks heating up. He ignores me.

“I didn’t do anything to deserve this,” Peter snaps and gestures to his face.

Eric tilts his head to the side and looks at Peter curiously. “I can’t tell the difference,” Eric shrugs. Someone coughs out a laugh.

“She broke my nose and you can’t tell the difference?” Peter scowls and jabs a finger at me. “That psycho bitch threatened to kill me!”

“Which is why we’re here.”

Everyone straightens at the sharp, stern voice. We turn as one to find Max and the woman leader stood just in front of Four. All three are frowning disapprovingly and their eyes are on me. I stand slowly and feel myself blush at the way their eyes focus on the marks staining my skin. It is quite obvious that those marks came from sexual activity, if the fact that I am, once again, wearing Eric’s clothing did not. It takes all of my self-control not to fidget uncomfortably. Instead, I stand with my hands at my sides, my head held high, and my spine straight. I refuse to be cowed into submission. Peter deserved everything he got and more. Besides, Eric said he spoke to them. Eric handled it, right? I will not be made factionless, will I?

“Justice, Peter, come with us,” Max commands in a ringing tone. Beneath his mask, Peter looks triumphantly gleeful. “Not you,” Max snaps when Eric moves to follow us. Insult and anger passes through Eric’s eyes, almost too quickly to catch. “You’re clearly too personally involved in this case.”

Eric stays behind, tense and angry, as Max and the woman leads Peter and I away. Peter walks far too close to me. If I put distance between us, it will seem like a retreat. I wish I could retreat. He makes my skin crawl and my stomach twist in disgust. He is the most repulsive human being I have ever met in my entire life. My arms fold over my stomach before I can stop them. It is the only defensive measure I allow myself. I keep my eyes on the back of Max’s head and keep my other senses and instincts aware of Peter’s every move. If he even thinks about retaliating for last night, I want to be ready. I will be ready. He will not beat me into submission. He will not make me factionless. If I become factionless because of him, I will kill him. My life will be over anyway. An execution will just speed my inevitable death on the streets.

Max and the woman lead us into a small, windowless room with a single, slightly flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. At the centre of the room is a rectangular table with four chairs set around it – one at each edge – and Max impatiently waves for us to sit. Peter and I end up opposite each other with a leader on either side. I glare hatefully at the boy, who wears a pitiful expression with gleaming, smug eyes. My hands twitch on my thighs, but I do not allow them to curl into fists. That would allow him a power that I will not give him. Instead, I meet his gaze fearlessly and keep my expression blank. He cannot quite keep a grin from tugging at the corners of his lips. I resist the urge to kick him and withdraw my legs hastily, tucking my feet beneath the chair, when his foot scrapes up the inside of my calf. A shudder of revulsion passes through me.

“I need answers, Justice,” Max snaps at me, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. “Eric insists that you must have had a reason, but you’re clearly having sex with him,” Max frowns sharply and looks down at me severely. “What happened?”

“Last night, during dinner, I returned to the dormitory to find my personal belongings destroyed beyond repair,” I begin and lock eyes with Peter. “My clothes and bed were torn apart and urinated on and my underwear had been masturbated on,” I state bluntly. The woman lets out a hissed noise of disgust and leans slightly away from Peter. “I know it was Peter – he is the only one cowardly enough to do so, with the possible exception of his minion Drew, but Drew hardly has the brains,” I say dismissively. Peter’s face is hard now and his eyes are wary. “Peter has been trying to undermine me and intimidate me since training began and it only got worse when I beat him in the first stage, which was his own fault, and last night was the final straw, so I took what I saw to be the only way to get him to leave me alone,” I explain calmly. “Ignoring him did not work, arguing with him did not work, and, as a result, I thought that perhaps he would finally respond to physical violence, since that is how he handles the majority of his problems.”

“Liar,” Peter spits instantly, but silences when the disgusted Max raises a hand for quiet.

“You don’t have any proof?” he asks me. I reluctantly shake my head. “But, you were confident enough in your suspicions to take action?” he continues. Wary, I nod. “Why didn’t you come to a leader? Or go to Four?”

“I thought that it would be perceived as weakness and that I needed someone to handle my problems for me,” I admit. Max and the woman nod their understanding. “I did think about it, sir, but I chose to act alone.”

“You’re going to have to be punished,” the woman pipes up. She fixes me with a curious, calculating look and her dark eyes simmer with interest. “I don’t think we should kick her out.”

“No, neither do I,” Max agrees. I relax slightly. Peter lets out a noise of outrage. “We haven’t got any proof that you did what she says, but if I found out that it was you, you’ll be wishing she’d finished the job,” Max snaps. “I won’t tolerate that kind of cowardice in my faction – you handle your differences and issues in the ring, or with a goddamned conversation, am I understood?”

Peter scowls at me and looks like he swallowed something bitter. “Yes, sir,” he mutters sulkily.

“Now, get the hell out,” Max sneers. Peter stands and leaves, almost slamming the door behind him. “Little shit,” Max says darkly and faces me once more. “Just because you’re Eric’s favourite doesn’t mean we’re going to go easy on you.”

“I would not appreciate it if you did,” I answer honestly.

“We could put her on maintenance until the end of initiation,” the woman states. “I need my office cleaned up.”

“Fine,” Max sighs and shrugs. “Justice, you’re on janitorial duty in the leaders’ offices until initiation finishes.”

“Yes, sir, ma’am,” I nod, slightly relieved. I can clean. I am rather good at it.

“Eric will show you the way after training today,” the woman says with a wicked grin. “You look so adorable in his shirt.”

“I have no clothing left,” I answer with a slight frown. “It was this or nothing and I did not think that wandering around Dauntless naked was appropriate.”

They both laugh and Max pats my shoulder. I tense slightly, but he does not seem to notice. “We’ll transfer some points over to your account before lunch – an advance on next week,” he promises. I wonder if I should tell him that Eric has already agreed to transfer me Peter’s points. I decide not to. More points to replenish my wardrobe after all. “Now, get to training and I expect to see you beat that little shit,” Max smirks and stands.

“Thank you,” I nod and leave the room.

A sigh of relief flutters free from me the moment I am free from their presence. I quickly make my way back to the waiting room and am instantly met with demands over what happened. Peter clearly was disinclined to answer their questions. He is sat in his seat with a scowl on his face and hatred in his eyes. This battle between us is not over. Until one of us dead, I do not think it ever will be. We are rivals. We will be fighting for the rest of our days. I acknowledge that. It does not mean that I like it. I break my gaze from his and turn to Tris and Christina, who are looking at me expectantly. There is apology in Tris’ eyes. She must regret the sharp words we passed between us last night. I do not hold it against her. I have probably said worse things to her and I did knock her unconscious that one time during training.

“I have janitorial duty in the leaders’ offices as punishment in training finishes,” I state simply. “Max also told Peter that, if he discovers that what happened to my things was done by Peter, Peter will be wishing I had finished the job,” I find myself adding spitefully.

“The only reason you’re still around is because you’re fucking Eric,” Peter spits hatefully. “You’re only ever going to be the whore that screwed her way through initiation.”

“The first time I had sex with _anyone_ was last night,” I say mildly with a shrug. People choke slightly around me and stare with gaping mouths. “My rank has nothing to do with whatever sexual intimacies have occurred between Eric and myself,” I state calmly and meet Peter’s eyes unflinchingly. “And, Peter, you will always be the coward that stabbed a boy in the eye and tried to chase a girl from Dauntless by masturbating on her underwear.”

“ _Fucking liar_ ,” Peter snarls. The Dauntless born initiates stare at him with utter horror. One of the girls actually switches seats to get further away from him. “You’re a liar,” he insists.

“Perhaps my suspicions are wrong,” I allow and stretch my legs out to ease the ache in them. I cross them at the ankle and fold my arms over my stomach. “But, I do not think they are,” I say quietly. “You are a vile, repulsive, despicable coward, Peter, and nothing is ever going to change that.”

“I’m going to kill you one day, bitch,” he spits hatefully. “I’m going to make you fucking scream for mercy.”

“I shall add delusional to the list of insults I have for you,” I decide, unconcerned.

Peter’s mouth opens to make a no doubt blistering retort, face twisted in hatred, but the door to Four’s testing room opens and a pale, sickly looking Molly is escorted out by a reluctant Nate. He flashes me a sunny grin and glares at Peter. No doubt Eric filled him in. I merely nod in response and glance up when Four steps into the doorway. He calls my name and I follow him into the simulation room. Without a word, I hop onto the seat and recline in it comfortably. My body does not ache so much in this position. I tilt my head to the side in expectation of the needle, but it does not come. After a moment, I look at Four and find him just sitting there with the needle in his lap.

“I wanted to apologise,” Four says in a gruff voice. I frown slightly, confused. I cannot think of anything that he needs to apologise for. “I’ve judged you since the day you’ve arrived here without bothering to try to get to know you,” he explains quietly. “I dismissed you as someone cruel and cold, especially when Eric took an interest in you, but I was wrong,” he states firmly. “Tris told me what you did for Christina, how you were the first there to pull her up, and Eric told me what Peter did to your clothes, so I’m sorry, Justice, for judging you without knowing you.”

I stare at him in surprise and shift slightly uncomfortably. “I never claimed to be a decent person, Four,” I say quietly. “But, thank you.”

“Okay,” Four nods sharply. “Let’s get on with things.”

We are both grateful to dismiss the conversation. He sinks the needle into my neck and my eyes fall closed, while my body relaxes back against the leather chair. A sigh leaves my lips and I shift against my perch to get a more comfortable position. I end up on my side. There is something tickling at my flesh. My nose wrinkles and I swat at the offending thing, but something cool and scaly slips its way around my wrist. Odd. The thing is quite thick, easily the width of my forearm by the feel of things, and I do not like it. My eyes open and my body sits up, ready to dismiss this strange thing on my arm, but I freeze at the sight of the biggest snake I have ever seen slowly winding itself around my arm. It is far thicker my forearm. It is closer to the size of Eric’s thigh and probably longer than he is tall.

I jerk to my feet, panicking, and gasp when its long body wraps around my waist and _squeezes_. Oh god. The snake’s cold, black eyes fix on me and its pink, forked tongue flickers out to taste the air. To taste my fear. A shudder ripples through me and that simple movement causes it to tighten again. It constricts my ribcage and winds it tail around my thigh to keep its balance. Part of its body is wrapped around my right arm, leaving me completely at its mercy. I have my left arm free, however. I manage to grab its tail and pull it free from my leg, gasping when it tightens itself around my ribcage some more. I can barely breathe. My head swims and my heart pounds and nausea swims through my stomach. My eyes slam closed and I hear the thing give a low, dangerous hiss. Oh god. I am going to get eaten. I am going to die here. I am going to get eaten by a giant snake.

My eyes open to see its mouth gaping open. I wrench my arm up to block it and shove the tail I still grip into its jaws. It hisses and loosens its grip at the pain of biting itself. I shove at the coils around me and manage to fight my way free. It is so strong. Just one, thick line of muscle. It hisses and lunges again, jaws gaping. I slam my foot into the top of its head and feel something crack beneath my boot. I stomp on it again and again and again until it is limp and unmoving with a bloodied lump at the top of its body. My boot and leg up to my knee are covered in snake blood splatter. I shudder and step back from the carcass. Gross. I close my eyes and roll my shoulders.

A hand touches my shoulder. I jerk upright and open my eyes to find Four looking at me calmly. “You’re getting better,” he tells me and hands me the usual cup of water. “That’s your quickest time yet.”

“Where am I placed in the class?” I ask curiously. “Higher than Peter?”

Four looks mildly amused and checks the computer. “You’re actually tied with him right now – literally just a second between you,” he states. My eyes narrow on him slightly. “He’s the second faster, but you’re dealing with everything really well,” Four promises. His amusement is far too obvious. “All you can do is keep practicing.”

“I know,” I sigh and stand. My knees are not as shaky this time. “Do you know what time Eric will be finished?” I ask. Four’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “He is supposed to escort me to the leaders’ offices for my janitorial duties, which are a punishment for breaking Peter’s nose and threatening his life in the middle of dinner,” I explain and absently smooth my borrowed t-shirt.

“Between four and five, but it depends on how long it takes for people to come out of the simulation,” Four answers. “And it’s only twelve now, so you’ve got a while to wait.”

“Thank you,” I nod my gratitude and leave the room.

Shopping it is.

 

* * *

 

Bags surround my feet. There is not a chance in this world that I am leaving my new clothes (purchased with Peter’s points, might I add) in the dormitory unsupervised. So, I brought them with me to wait for Eric. It is now quarter to five. I have been waiting since ten to four. Sleep has crept over me and I am dozing. I am alert enough to know if someone approaches, I think. A sleepy sigh escapes me and my body shifts to alleviate some of the stiffness beginning to seep into my joints and muscles. My eyes stay determinedly closed, however. I will not wake up until I have to, which will not be until Eric arrives to take me for my punishment as a janitor. It could be worse. I acknowledge that. I might actually deserve worse, but, then again, in my opinion Peter deserves to be factionless. He does not belong in the faction of the brave when he is such a coward.

“What the hell, princess? Did you buy the entire store?”

One eye cracks open at the impatient snarl to find Eric stood in front of me with a look of disbelief on his face. “I bought the necessary items,” I say simply and stand. A yawn breaks free before I can stop it and I cover it with a hand. “I now have three outfits, plus accessories, and toiletries,” I state once I have finished yawning. “The woman leader – I do not know her name – said you would show me to the offices for my punishment.”

“Leah,” Eric informs me absently, still staring at my bags. “Why are they here?”

“I was not going to leave them to Peter’s mercy,” I frown. “He is vindictive and petty.”

“Why didn’t you take them to my place?” he says, as though that were the obvious solution. I stare at him in surprise. He raises an eyebrow in response. “You think I’m letting you go now I’ve finally got you?” he smirks and grabs my waist, dragging me against him. His lips find mine and I melt against him, wrapping my fingers into the edges of jacket. The zipper bites into my palms, but I just strain up onto tiptoes to get closer to his mouth. “Not bored yet, princess,” he whispers huskily.

I roll my eyes and smirk slightly. “Neither am I,” I reply softly and pull him back down. I can feel his grin against my mouth. “We should go.”

“Always the voice of reason,” Eric teases. I lean back enough to give him a flat look. “Sure you want to go, princess?” he murmurs and drags his fingertips over the exposed skin of my thigh. A shiver rushes down my spine, which arches slightly in a silent plead for more of his touch. My arms wrap around his neck before I can stop them and pull him down. His lips find mine roughly, his hand curving sharply around my thigh, and he wrenches me closer roughly. I stumble slightly and end up completely crushed against his chest. “Come on, princess,” he mutters and yanks me towards his testing room.

Someone clears their throat pointedly and we both freeze in the doorway. “Isn’t she due for her punishment about now?” Four’s voice asks, embarrassment obvious.

Eric slowly looks away from me and turns to Four. “There’s going to be spanking,” he says seriously.

“Eric!” I protest and punch him in the shoulder.

“I don’t need to know the details of your _intimate_ life,” Four coughs, blushing darkly. My pale cheeks are bright red and my eyes are narrowed on the smirking Eric. “Just get out of here.”

“Such a _Stiff_ ,” Eric mutters darkly and glares at Four, but releases me. “Get your shit and let’s go, princess.”

I roll my eyes at his language, but gather my shopping bags and follow him. I do make sure to send Four an apologetic look, but he is too busy looking embarrassed to notice. The shopping bags swing at my sides and rustle slightly with each step. Eric flashes me a mildly disapproving look at the sound. I ignore it as we climb the Pit and I fall into step beside him. We walk in silence. We usually do. Our conversations usually take place in privacy where no one can overhear us. His arm brushes mine and he suddenly sighs. I blink when he abruptly snatches a handful of bags from me and quickens his pace. A small smile tugs at my lips, but I wisely do not acknowledge the act aloud. He would not appreciate it and my new clothes would more than likely end up at the bottom of the Pit.

Eric leads me to his apartment, which surprises me, and he wordlessly dumps the shopping bags on the coffee table. I set the ones I hold neatly on the ground. When I look at him, I find a predatory grin on his face and his eyes locked on me. No. I have a punishment to get to. I begin to back towards the door, but he grabs my waist and wrenches me into a rough kiss. A small moan escapes me before I can control it. Heat pulses through my blood and I yank him flat against me. My fingers thread through the hair at the back of his skull and one hand curls into the fabric over his shoulder. I had something to do. I am fairly certain, but Eric’s body is pinning me to the wall and his mouth is moving down my neck and nothing else really matters. He lifts me smoothly onto his hips and presses his lips back onto mine.

“Bed,” I mumble against his lips.

“Nah, princess, right here is _perfect_ ,” Eric smirks. I frown at him, confused. I am not so naïve as to think that sex only occurs in a bed, but I do not know if I feel comfortable enough just yet. “Just trust me,” he murmurs and begins sucking a mark against my throat. My fingers bite into his shoulders and then move to push his jacket off. “What the fuck did you do to my shirt?” he mumbles, attempting to haul the shirt up.

“Tied at the back,” I answer breathlessly and push his shirt up. “ _Ow_ ,” I hiss when he pinches a chunk of flesh at my back.

“It’s in the way,” Eric defends. I hold onto him with one hand, frowning when black fabric slithers back down over his muscular chest, and reach back to untie the knot in my shirt. He groans gratefully and pulls the shirt up over my head. I have to grab him sharply when my body begins to slide down without his hands supporting me. I laugh a little when he lets out a cuss and I lean down to press my lips hungrily to his throat, desperate for more of him. His hands burn my exposed skin and I help him remove my bra and moan, head tilting back, when he palms my breast. “Like that?” he whispers hoarsely and rolls my hardened nipple between his calloused fingers.

“ _Yes_ ,” I gasp, head against the wall, hips shifting against his, and my body arches into his touch. I cry out when he tilts his head, shifts me higher, and his mouth circles my other nipple. I grind against him. My mind realises what my body is doing a few seconds after I start doing it. I do not stop. It feels so good. My hand moves down and unbuttons my shorts. There’s a desperate throbbing between my legs. I need something to fill it and he’s otherwise occupied. “Eric,” I protest when he grabs my wrist and slams my hand against the wall.

“I’ll watch you fuck yourself another time, princess, but not now,” Eric retorts. I huff impatiently and glare at him. “What do you want, princess?” he teases and blows on my wet nipple. I gasp, eyes fluttering, and let my head fall back.

“I want you inside me,” I answer bluntly. He hisses and grinds against me. He lets me slide down so our hips align and I feel his erection nestled between my thighs. “I _need_ you inside me,” I whisper against his ear, nipping his earlobe. “I want you to fuck me,” I moan into his ear when his hips jerk into mine.

Hurriedly, our clothes are shucked off. I even manage to kick my shoes off. His shoes stay on and his pants and boxers pool around his ankles. He hefts me back onto his hips and slides two fingers inside of me to see how ready I am. A small gasp escapes me, hips rolling into his hand pleadingly, hungry for more, and my lips feverishly stroke across his jaw and down his neck. Small whimpers and moans flutter against his skin and he groans quietly. My fingers drag across his shoulders and then drive into shoulder blades when he thrusts into me. A loud cry is wrenched out of my mouth and my fingers scrabble at him frantically. Driven purely by lust and a burning need for him, I kiss him hotly and arch my hips into his to meet his thrusts. My hands end up on his face, his tongue in my mouth, and his hands grip my waist. His fingers will probably leave bruises. I don’t care.

“Harder,” I gasp against his lips. He grunts and wastes no time in complying. “ _Oh god_!” I moan, entire body arching into his, and it happens all at once. “ _Eric, Eric, **Eric**_!” I all but scream as my body tightens around his and pulls taut. Heat explodes through my whole body and stars explode against my closed eyelids. I can feel him buried inside of me, completely to the hilt, his body tense against mine, and his lips cling to mine. “Why have you stopped?” I pant, rolling my hips into his pleadingly. “Bored?” I tease breathlessly and he thrusts sharply, drawing a shivery moan from my mouth.

“Never,” Eric retorts gruffly and starts moving again. It’s as hard and fast as before and leaves me quaking against him. I gasp, whimper, and moan into the side of his neck, whispering his name pleadingly. His hands drop down to my ass, squeezing almost painfully hard, and he slips one hand between us to find my sensitive clit. “Come,” he orders roughly. I can’t help but obey. I practically scream as he makes me orgasm for the second time in five minutes. “Justice,” he hisses, teeth scraping across my jaw, and he comes with me. He pulls back sharply and semen shoots across my thighs and vagina. He curls a hand around his shaft and pumps a few more times until his penis goes flaccid. “You have to go on the birth control injection,” he informs me sternly, breathless. “I don’t want anything between us.”

“Okay,” I agree, kissing him lazily. My hands stroke over the back of his neck and across his shoulders. “It was so good,” I murmur with a small smile. “How long until we can do it again?”

“Nympho,” Eric smirks.

“Are you complaining?”

Eric grins and kisses me deeply. “Fuck no, pretty princess,” he murmurs. “We’re not stopping until I’ve fucked you in every room in this apartment.”

“I like the sound of that.”

I am fairly certain there was something I was supposed to do, but it does not matter. Not anymore.

 

* * *

 

Lazy kisses are pressed against the chest beneath me. He is so strong, so big, and so present. His hand rests against my lower back and his lips stroke across my temple. A small smile tugs at my lips and I tilt my head back to meet his mouth. There is an insistent tug of discomfort between my legs from repeated, unfamiliar activity, but none of it matters. It is a good sort of ache. He tastes like me and I know I taste like him. I can still taste his essence on my tongue. It was salty and thick and clung to my mouth. I swallowed it because I knew he wanted me to. I did not mind so much, if I am honest. It felt good to know that I was making him come that hard. A small thrill shivers through my belly, but I am too tired, sated, and boneless to even think of trying to urge him into another round. We almost fulfilled his wish of fucking in every room, but we have yet to go into the bathroom.

Someone knocks on the door, destroying our bubble of peace. Eric mutters an expletive, but peels himself away from me and yanks on a pair of boxers. I pull the comforter up over my naked form and watch him move towards the door. There are puckered, red marks down his back from my nails. There are some on his chest too, but they are mostly covered by his chest hair. I managed to leave some kiss marks on his chest and shoulders too. They match the ones he left on my flesh. He left them just about everywhere. I sigh slightly and turn onto my front to watch him open the door. He wears a ferocious scowl of disapproval, but I frown in confusion when tension abruptly bunches his back and he partially hides himself behind the door.

“I suggest you get dressed,” a cool, woman’s voice states with obvious disapproval. “We have a meeting.”

I frown a little deeper and push myself up onto my elbows. I catch a flash of blue, before Eric shuts the door and turns to me. “Get in the bathroom,” he orders. I stare at him, insulted, but he grabs my arm and wrenches me out of bed. My legs waver, muscles protesting at the movement, but he firmly keeps me upright and shoves my dirty clothes into my arms. “ _Go_ ,” he insists and shoves me gently towards the bathroom.

“What is going on?” I demand, but he just presses a hurried, distracted kiss to my lips and begins to get dressed. “Eric,” I protest and he gives me a push into the bathroom.

“Shut the door and keep quiet,” he commands. He hesitates, debating on whether or not to elaborate, and then he heaves out a sigh. “Jeanine Matthews is here to discuss what we talked about on Visiting Day,” he mutters with a glance at the door. “You’re not supposed to know.”

“Okay,” I agree quietly. “Can I shower?”

“Yeah, whatever, just don’t come out until I come and get you,” Eric nods and shuts the door on me.

Confused and bewildered, I turn on the shower and lock the door. Outside, I can hear muted voices through the door, but the cool female’s tone is filled with disapproval. She does not approve of Eric engaging in sexual intimacies. I wonder why. Erudite does not have strict rules on pre-marital sex like Abnegation. They believe in safe sex and furthering the genetic lines through mixing the most intelligent with the most intelligent. Eric and I used condoms, not that is any of Jeanine Matthews’ business. I shake the discomfort off and step under the warm spray of the shower. I sigh in relief and the hot water helps ease the ache in my muscles. Unfortunately, this means that I cannot hear the conversation happening in the other room. I will just have to get the truth from Eric later.

Occasionally, I will get a strain of someone’s voice, but I cannot make out the words. I frown and step out of the shower, wrapping myself in a big, fluffy, black towel. A second towel is rubbed over my hair and my eyes continuously drift to the door, just waiting for Eric to appear. His smell surrounds me, as I had to use his shower gel and shampoo, because mine is still out in the main part of the apartment. I tie my hair back into a slightly sloppy bun and perch on the edge of the closed toilet lid, still wrapped in the towel. I can still hear the voices. Jeanine Matthews’s sharp, clear voice is the most prevalent. She certainly does like to talk. I can also make out Eric’s deep timbre and another, male rumble, but I cannot identify the final voice. Perhaps Eric will tell me later, if we do not get distracted again.

More than an hour passes, during which I occupy myself with counting the bathroom floor tiles, before Eric comes to free me from the room and he looks agitated. “Don’t ask questions,” he snaps immediately. I nod slowly, warily, and stand. “I’m going to shower, you can grab something to eat or go to sleep, whatever you want,” he says distractedly and waves a hand at me to dismiss me.

“Have you got clean bedclothes?” I ask quietly. He scowls at me demandingly. “I will change the sheets,” I state firmly. “They are disgusting.”

“Top shelf of the closet,” he grunts. I nod and move towards the door. “Thanks, princess.”

“My motives are wholly selfish,” I reply simply. “I have no desire to sleep in the wet patch, or on sheets that smell of sex.”

Eric gives a small chuckle and presses a light kiss to my shoulder. “Thanks for not asking questions,” he elaborates. “If Jeanine or Max know that I’ve told you anything about Divergents, I don’t know what they’ll do.”

“I know nothing,” I promise. “I will trust that you are acting in the best interests of our city to stop our system from crumbling.”

“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Eric nods. He seems relieved that I understand. His hands close around my biceps and he bends his head to kiss me. “Maybe I’ll be able to pull you in once initiation is over, but not just yet,” he says and brushes his lips over my temple. “Now, get the hell out.”

“Fine, start seducing me and do not finish the job,” I smirk and drop the towel to stride out of the bathroom.

Eric gives a low laugh behind me and I deliberately swing my hips on my way to get some clothes. “I’ll finish the job when I’m done!” he calls after me.

“I would not bother, I will have finished myself off by then,” I shoot back slyly.

Another laugh reaches me and I stop at my shopping bags, which have been mostly hidden behind the messily made bed. The stench of sex hangs heavily over everything. I sigh and crouch to pull a new nightgown from a bag. I may have chosen it with the idea of taunting Eric in mind. It is silky, falls to my upper thighs, and has a slit up the right side. It shows off a fair amount of cleavage, especially when I do not wear a bra, and will reveal my naked behind if I bend over. I might actually be a nymphomaniac. I have had sex with Eric multiple times this afternoon. I have had countless orgasms. I already want more. I do not think I will ever be satiated. I shake off the thought and begin stripping the bed.

It does not take long to change the sheets and, exhausted, I snuggle into the fresh sheets. I am half asleep when I feel Eric join me. Automatically, I turn into him and feel him still in surprise. Post-coitus cuddling is one thing, but pre-sleep cuddling is another I take it. Stubbornly, I fit my body against his side, cheek pressed against his chest, and smile a little when his arm curves around me. He tugs me closer to fit me easier against him and his lips touch my forehead. He sighs, breath ruffling my wet hair, and he does not touch me inappropriately. We just lay there, tangled together, and slip into slumber. It feels nice. I feel safe here. Am I allowed this? Am I allowed to feel content? My arm lays over his stomach, hugging his naked form closer. I want to. I want stay here with him, even though I know I cannot stay forever. He will not keep me forever, but, for now, I will stay and I will let myself be content.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Extremely violent reaction occurring in this chapter. Justice's coping mechanisms are shit and it turns out she really likes alcohol, so fun times!

My body is falling apart. It started with the tattoo on the inside of my wrist. It hurt. It started beating. It started crumbling and then rest of me did. My fingers are becoming dust as I stare at them. My chest literally cracks until I can see my heart beating beneath the ruined flesh. Even that precious organ is shattering as I stare at it in horror. A scream locks in my throat. It hurts. It hurts so much. My knees buckle and my body hits the ground. As I connect with the surface, my body flies apart. I can feel myself splintering. A scream comes tearing out of my throat, but the sound is stolen as my form turns to dust. I can feel it all. I can see it happening. It is terrifying. I cannot breathe. I cannot move. I cannot even scream.

I am nothing.

That is something I came to terms with some time ago, however. Why does it frighten me so much? I struggle to suck in a painful breath. I have come to the understanding that this would be my reality one day. It should not frighten me. I have nothing to fight for. I do not. The memory of Eric’s kiss makes that resolve shatter slightly. My vision is blackening, but I want Eric’s hands on me and his lips on mine and his body on me. I want to be with him again. I do not feel so broken with his hands holding me together. I woke this morning to his fingers on my wrist, tracing the tattoo depicting just how broken I am. I did not feel broken then. I was disappointed when he stopped upon realising that I was awake. I sink into that memory gladly and let my vision completely blacken.

Cold air fills my lungs and my eyes snap open as my body jerks and Four’s face comes into sharp clarity. He is frowning at me. I hate the look in his eyes. It is pity. I hate pity. I sit up and avoid looking at it. He hands me water, as he always does, and I drink it, as I always do. We are silent. I think he is confused about what he saw in there. I am confused too. I am afraid of myself. I am afraid of my emotional state. I thought I had accepted it long ago, but clearly I have not. My fingers drift to the broken heart inked into my wrist, still slightly tender, and I look down at the depiction of my emotional wellbeing. The reds and blacks and silvers are so vivid. I can still feel it throbbing. I rub it uncomfortably and stand.

“It was a good time,” Four says to my back. “You’re bringing it down all the time.”

I nod and leave without saying a word. I was the last of his group to be tested. Eric is lounging in one of the chairs. He waited for me. Something loosens and lightens in my chest. He stands and briefly strokes his fingertips over the side of my neck, over a mark he left there. I sigh beneath the touch and relax, eyes fluttering closed. He leans down and his lips touch mine. It is a barely there touch, teasing me, and he pulls away when I attempt to deepen the kiss. I glare at his smug smirk and sigh when he steps around me to talk to Four. He even gives me a gentle push towards the exit. I roll my eyes and leave. I could eat. I do feel quite hungry and Tris actually initiated conversation earlier. It was her way of apologising for how she spoke to me about Al.

The others are already eating when I enter the dining area. I get some food and join Tris’ table when she waves me over. Peter glares hatefully from across the room. I ignore him and engage in reluctant conversation with Christina about the second stage of training, but their eyes are on the vivid marks Eric has left on my flesh. I raise an eyebrow at their blatant stares. They flush and look away, but their eyes continuously flicker to the bruises Eric sucked into my skin. I will have to remind him not to leave such obvious marks. The problem is that he distracts me so effectively. The tug of discomfort between my legs confirms that much. I shift my weight slightly and cross my legs.

“Yes, I had sex with Eric, multiple times, and he is rather possessive, so he likes to leave marks,” I snap impatiently when, once again, their eyes lock onto the marks on my neck. “Can you stop staring now?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Christina mumbles and the lot of them blush. The boys mumble excuses and leave, which leaves me with Christina and Tris. The former shifts impatiently and bites her bottom lip, clearly holding something in. “What’s it like?” she blurts out. I frown a little, confused, and take a bite of chocolate cake. “Sex,” she whispers and looks around, embarrassed. “What’s sex like?”

A smirk forms on my lips before I can stop it and I have to press my thighs together at the memory. “I enjoy it immensely,” I state simply. She looks disappointed at my less than detailed answer. “I have no desire to go into detail regarding my sex life,” I inform her and note with mild amusement that Tris relaxes. I continue eating my chocolate cake.

“So, Eric in the bedroom…” Christina attempts to bait.

My smirk grows and I finish my cake. “Who says that our activities are restricted to the bedroom?” I reply softly and stand, dropping my fork onto my empty plate with a clatter. “I have to get to the leaders’ offices for my janitorial duties,” I say and walk away with Christina choking on her drink behind me.

“You asked,” I hear Tris saying, pained.

Amusement flickers through me as I make my way up the Pit, following Eric’s directions from this morning. I made him tell me when I realised that I missed out on my punishment yesterday. It was his fault. He deliberately distracted me. He is far too adept at that. I shake off thoughts of Eric and stride swiftly up the Pit. My body gives a small tug of protest, but it’s easily dismissed. This faction taught me to deal with pain after all. It’s what Dauntless does. I’m grateful for it as I climb the Pit and end up in the corridor that holds the leaders’ offices. Leah hails me immediately. She sets me to cleaning her office and teases me about Eric, but I ignore her taunts and get on with the work. Cleaning is something I am rather good at after all.

Paperwork is filed. Surfaces are scrubbed. Objects are neatened. Floors and walls are wiped down. Leah just stares at me, open mouthed, about halfway through my process. Her pen hits the floor and she physically recoils when I set it neatly in a pot I dragged out from the bottom drawer of her desk. I raise an eyebrow at her. She just stares at the clean office with an expression that suggests she’s never seen the space before in her life. I roll my eyes and grab the last of the paperwork to file away. It is almost calming. This monotony and rhythmic work settles me in a way that I have not yet felt in Dauntless. It is almost peaceful. Leah is silent in her shock, I presume, and just watches me work with shock on her face. I just relish the silence and the peace.

There are times of peace in the pre-dawn hours when I am lazy and wrapped in the warmth of Eric’s embrace. Sometimes, I wake to find myself feeling content and comfortable in Eric’s strength. It frightens me a little. How can I find so much comfort in a person? I cannot rely on him for my comfort. I have not required comfort in many years. I cannot wait for Eric to hand me strength and comfort when he will never do so willingly. I will have to steal it in those early morning hours when he is snoring softly beside me, his arm always tucked around my waist. I hate that I have never felt safer than I do when I am against his broad chest and he is asleep and we are quiet and peaceful. We are never quiet and peaceful, but we are in those early morning hours. My safe haven is Eric’s apartment. It should not be. It is. I like knowing I have a place of relative privacy to go back to. It almost feels like home.

“Okay, you can go,” Leah says sometime later. She lets out a yawn and rakes a hand through her chin length, gingery blonde hair. “I think Max wants you tomorrow,” she shrugs and dismisses me with a wave of her hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” I respond quietly and leave when her eyes snap up to me and narrow dangerously. She hates being called ‘ma’am’.

 

* * *

 

As ever, there is a cacophony of noise and activity in Dauntless. There are rarely any quiet moments, unless it is in the few hours after the party has finished and those working early mornings have yet to rise. Tonight, they are apparently still celebrating Nate’s birthday, which happened four days ago, and Nate spotted me across the Pit when I was returning from cleaning Leah’s office. He has dragged me into this against my will and I am now sat at a bar, awkwardly gripping a bottle of beer, with people I do not know. Laughter surrounds me and the bartender keeps flashing me little grins that I want to slap, for some reason. I try to ignore him as much as possible and attempt to keep up with the conversation flowing around me. I do not know the people that Nate and his friends are discussing. However, I do understand that a lot of the comments sent Nate’s way are barbed and intended to hurt. They all just bounce off of Nate, though. It is as though he is made of rubber. Some words do reach him, however. I see it when his smile goes brittle and his eyes flash.

What confuses me is the fact that Nate does not fight back. Is he not Dauntless? I eye him curiously and take a small sip of beer. It takes a severe amount of control not to grimace at the sour taste of it. He just grins back at me, unconcerned, and laughs at something a man I believe to be named Franz makes. Perhaps it is just me, but the comment seems derogatory and demeaning. It hints at Nate’s sexuality and the blatantly insulting undertones make me bristle slightly. Nate nudges me and gives a small shake of his head when his eyes meet mine. He knows. He sees, just not as well as I do. Maybe he does realise that none of the people around him are his friends, but he does not realise that they are all vultures circling him, waiting to pick at his carcass. I only keep my mouth shut because Nate flashes me a pleading look and then a curious thing happens.

As all those words just bounce off of him, his face suddenly lights up as his green-grey eyes fix on something behind me. I follow his gaze and my eyebrows raise slightly when I see Eric weaving through the crowd towards us. There is a frown on his face until his eyes meet mine and surprise touches his expression, but it is not angry or disapproving. I glance back at Nate to find his smile dimming and his eyes darting back to me, uncomfortable. He flushes when he notices that I have noticed his stare. He hastily averts his gaze and a thoughtful frown forms on my face, but Eric distracts me. His mouth touches mine and his hand winds possessively around the back of my neck. When he pulls away, I raise an eyebrow at him, but he only smirks and brushes his lips over my hairline.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, leaning against the bar I am currently sat at.

“Nate,” I answer simply and dryly and take another, cautious sip of beer. My mouth twists slightly and my eyes narrow on Eric’s amused expression. “Why are you here? I was under the impression that mingling with the underlings was not on your agenda.”

“Mingling with the underlings – I like that,” Nate laughs and taps me beneath the chin with two fingers. “I might have to use that.”

“Thief,” a woman sings, eyes flashing and zeroing in on me. “Who are you exactly?”

“Justice Stephenson,” I answer dully and trace a finger over the edge of the label on my beer bottle. “And you are?” I ask with thinly veiled dismissal. Her eyes darken and narrow. I just look back at her blankly.

“Jude,” she smiles with false sweetness at me. “So, you’re Eric’s little princess?”

“I do not belong to anyone,” I reply coolly and her smile tightens at my almost rude response. “I just happen to be having sex with him.”

Eric chokes on his newly acquired beer slightly and Nate snorts into his tumbler of whiskey. The others just stare at me for my blatant bluntness. In Dauntless, we say what we think, but we are not quite as blunt as my faction of origin. I cannot quite shuck the heavy shackles that Candor have bound upon me since birth. I wonder if I ever will, or if I am simply used to the weight that they offer. Whatever it is, these Dauntless with their bright hair and too many piercings and intricate tattoos are not used to it and stare at me with newfound curiosity. Transfers are not usually like me. Usually, the transfers desperately attempt to ingratiate themselves in their new faction by acting just like them. I do not attempt to mirror them. I act like myself and have no concern about their impression of or reaction to me.

“How’d you manage that? Eric _hates_ the maggots,” Jude grins cuttingly. I see the envy in her eyes. She used to have sex with Eric, or she wants to. Whatever it is, I have taken up a place in Eric’s bed and she is not happy about it.

“I suppose it helps that I am not a maggot,” I say, uninterested, and take another experimental gulp of my beer. It still tastes strange, but it is getting better with each mouthful. I dismiss Jude and turn to Nate and Eric, who are both stood on the same side of me. “I have decided that I do not like beer,” I tell them and give the bottle to Nate. “You can have it.”

“Thanks, boss,” Nate laughs and digs his finger into my cheek gently. “I bet if you smiled, you’d have dimples.”

“I do not have dimples,” I deny immediately and slap his hand away. “And I do not smile.”

“You smile when we have sex,” Eric shrugs. I stare at him, mildly… _proud_ of his honesty. “Usually after you orgasm.”

“That makes sense,” I say mildly. “I am very happy before, during, and after an orgasm.”

“You better be more than fucking happy,” Eric smirks. His eyes are bluer more than grey and dance with amusement down at me. “You better be fucking ecstatic.”

“Of course,” I hum and look over the list of alcoholic drinks. “What is tequila?”

“Princess, my prowess as a sexual partner is out of this fucking world,” Eric insists, defensive. I glance at him and then continue perusing the drinks. “And you’re not having tequila.”

My hackles immediately rise and my eyes snap to him and narrow slightly. “I shall have some tequila,” I tell the bartender, who looks between Eric and me with absolute horror and fear. “ _Now_ ,” I insist icily and tap my fingers against the wooden bar. He swiftly pours me a shot of tequila, hands me some salt, and a slice of lime. I eye everything warily. “Thank you,” I say anyway and Nate snorts with laughter.

“Okay, boss, do as I do,” he states and orders the same. “No, Eric! We are educating the scariest initiate since, well, _you_.”

“I am not frightening,” I deny, but watch him curiously as he licks the skin between his thumb and forefinger, pours the salt onto it, and picks up the shot. He licks the salt, downs the shot, and swiftly bites down on the lime. He grins and lets out a whoop. “I can do that,” I nod and settle myself more comfortably on my stool as I shift closer to the bar. I lick my hand, pour the salt on, and grab my tequila shot. I throw it back in one go and almost choke on it, but manage not to as I hastily grab the lime and suck on it. “Dear god,” I cough, eyes watering, and Nate cheers happily.

“Oh, we are definitely finding you something you like!” he declares and points at the bartender dramatically, the other hand on his hip. “Barkeep! More booze! I require a selection!”

“I would like some more tequila,” I decide, but Nate waves a hand at me and Eric watches me with dark amusement.

“I’m not taking care of you when you start throwing up, princess,” he informs me, but settles his arm across my shoulders. “I’m not tucking you in, or giving you water, or being nice to you.”

“I shall sleep on your couch,” I assure and take a shot of vodka from Nate. “Down it in one?” I question and Nate nods happily, grinning widely. I obey and my throat burns and I end up coughing into the back of one of my hands. “I do not like that one.”

“It’s like watching a queen or something,” I hear someone whisper behind me. I choose to ignore them.

“Give her a variety of shots,” Eric sighs. “If anything, when she gets pissed out of her mind, it’ll be funny.”

I frown at him sharply and grab a strangely purple coloured shot. I sling it down my throat and almost gag at the taste. The glass is thrust back at the bartender with a reprimanding frown and he shudders slightly, but my fingers are already curling around another glass. This one holds red liquid that wobbles dangerously in the glass when I lift it. None of it spills and I throw down the liquid and swallow it roughly. That one tastes sweeter and I do not mind it so much. I nod my approval. The bartender relaxes. He is not so relaxed after the next shot, which makes my head spin and tastes _disgusting_. I toss the glass at him with a reproving scowl on my face and haughtily snatch up the next shot. I lose count of how many shots I swallow, because my head becomes fuzzy and the world spins in front of me and I grab the bar when my body threatens to sway.

“Okay, princess, that’s enough,” Eric’s warm voice chuckles. I face him with a frown and demand one of those red shots. I like the red shots. “I know you do, princess, but I’m cutting you off,” Eric laughs and his strong arm winds around my waist to steady me. “You’re absolutely trashed,” he grins and strokes my hair out of my face.

“I like the red ones,” I insist and let him heave me up to my feet. My feet do not obey. The floor slips and sways beneath me. I grab his arm and let my head fall onto his broad chest. He smells nice. He smells like smoke and something spicy and mildly of sweat, but I like how he smells. My arms wind around his middle and I snuggle into him happily. He sighs, broad chest heaving beneath me, and his arms wrap around me, lifting me from my feet. “I can walk,” I snap.

“Yeah, if you want to walk right off the chasm,” Eric retorts and settles me comfortably in his arms. “If you throw up on me, I won’t ever forgive you,” he informs me and I giggle into his neck.

“I am not going to throw up,” I deny and look down at him. “I do not throw up.”

Eric just snorts and walks up the Pit with me in his arms. “You better not, because I _will_ make you clean it up,” he threatens. I make a face at him and then lean down and kiss him firmly. My arms loop around his neck and my lips mould to his. “You taste like a goddamned brewery,” he sighs, but kisses me gently and then continues the trek to his apartment. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

“You are the best,” I announce and laugh happily, hugging him tightly. I kiss his cheek soundly and settle my head comfortably on his shoulder. He sighs again and I am completely surprised when he strides into his apartment and sets me gently on the bed. I giggle and pull him down on top of me, kissing him. He tastes like beer and whiskey. I shove his shirt up and wrap my legs around him. I shove his jacket off and yank his shirt up and off of him. I hear him hiss out a cuss and his mouth brands against the side of my neck. My stomach feels odd. I frown, panting beneath him, and my stomach lurches. “Get off,” I choke out. He frowns down at me. “I’m going to be sick,” I mumble, clamping a hand over my mouth.

“You are shitting me,” he groans, but drags me out of bed. I gag at the swirl of movement and, suddenly, my head is shoved over the kitchen sink. Vomit comes spewing out of my mouth and Eric yanks my hair out of the way. “Okay, get it all out, princess,” he sighs and rubs my back.

I just continue to throw up my insides. My knuckles turn white from their tight grip on the counter and my whole body shudders and breaks out in cold sweat. My throat is raw and it feels as though it is never going to stop. I heave and gag until there is nothing left. Eric lets my body slip to the floor when I reach that stage and sets the washing up bowl in front of me, just in case. He washes the sink with a scowl on his face and hands me a glass of water. I try to push the water away, unable to stomach anything, but he crouches in front of me and grabs my chin. He glares at me and I reluctantly take the glass to sip at it. He continues to glower until I have drunk all of it. When the glass is empty, he smoothly lifts me into his arms once more and carries me back to the bed. I groan at the movement, burrowing into his shoulder. He just sets me on the ground in front of the bed and gently pries my shirt up. Slowly and methodically and with gentle hands, he undresses me, even removes my shoes, and tucks me into bed with a glass of water on the nightstand.

“Eric,” I mumble. He sighs and thrusts the washing up bowl beneath my chin. I scowl and push the bowl away. “No,” I deny and peer up at him through half-lidded eyes, sleepy. “Thank you for taking care of me,” I murmur and let my eyes close.

“Anytime, princess,” Eric sighs. I swear he does.

 

* * *

 

I will kill whomever it was that created alcohol. I will find them and I will destroy them. My head aches and throbs and I feel as though I am going to throw up with each movement. The bed feels as though it is _rocking_ and it is not pleasant. It is not pleasant _at all_. I groan and bury my face in the pillow, slapping the cause of the rocking sensation beside me. There is a hiss and a muttered cuss, but I do not particularly care. I turn away from it with a pained moan and curl in on myself, yanking a pillow over my head to blot out the light. Add that to the list of people to destroy. I will also destroy the idiot that created _light_. My stomach heaves and my body jerks up of its own accord. A hand clamps over my mouth and I stagger towards the bathroom. I barely make it in time, collapsing in front of the toilet and vomiting into it. My hair swings forwards and my shaky hands barely capture and wrench it back out of the way.

“Princess.”

The voice is ignored, but the warm, strong hands that pull my hair out of the way are not. There is a sigh behind me and Eric’s strength settles behind me, radiating heat. I groan and rest my head against the rim of the cold toilet. My breathing is harsh and raspy and cold sweat beads across the back of my neck and down my spine. Shudders rush through me and my hands clutch the toilet bowl. Eric rubs my bare back in slow, soothing circles and sighs as he sits beside me, still holding my hair in one hand. There is a snarky comment on my tongue about how he said he would not be nice to me, but the vomit steals the words and leaves me gasping and breathless. He sighs and strokes those circles into my back with the heel of his hand, fingertips sweeping against the space between my shoulder blades.

Someone knocks loudly on the front door and I cringe and groan. “Make it stop,” I moan as the noise echoes through my brain and bounces around my skull. “ _Shut up_ ,” I snarl when the pounding continues, fingers clenching around the toilet.

“Okay, princess, deep breaths,” Eric sighs and ties my hair back, before he leaves me all alone on the bathroom floor. I scowl at the feel of my hair slipping free against my sweaty neck and hug the toilet bowl, just waiting for the next stage of my hangover. My poor head. I close my eyes and vaguely hear Eric speaking to someone out in the other room. I want him to come back. I want his warm hands on my mostly naked skin and his gruff voice in my ear. “Okay, princess,” Eric’s voice reaches me and his hands stroke across my shoulders. “I have to go,” he tells me, gently smoothing my hair back into the elastic holding my hair back, and his chin touches the top of my head. “Let’s get you up,” he murmurs and eases me to my feet, supporting my weak body easily. He gives me some mouthwash and strips me completely, before washing away my sweat with a cool cloth and sliding one of his shirts on over my head. He lifts me easily into his arms and carries me back to bed. “There’s food in the fridge and the cupboards,” he tells me and glances at something over his shoulder.

“Eric, we really have to go,” a new voice says. I cringe and burrow beneath the comforter. “Hope you feel better, Justice,” the voice states in a softer tone. I recognise it as Four’s, I think.

“She’s hungover,” Eric snorts, but kisses my forehead and stands. “Get some sleep, eat something when you wake up – I like toast – and there’s water on the nightstand for you to have a drink as soon as you wake up.”

“Okay,” I mumble and peer up at him blearily. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Just don’t puke on my stuff,” he mutters gruffly, but his hand is gentle on my hair, and then he is gone and his warmth is gone and I am alone and miserable and sick.

Sleep steals into my mind and, when I wake, Eric is sat on the couch. I feel a little better, but my head still pounds. I sit up a little shakily and grab the glass of water. Obediently, I gulp it down and the throbbing in my head eases. That done, I pad towards Eric. He is sat on the couch, head in his hands, and his muscles are tense. Wordlessly, I lean over the back of the couch, run my hands across his broad shoulders, and wrap my arms around him. My cheek presses against his shoulder and my eyes fall closed. He sighs heavily and leans back into me, head pillowed against my bosom. I do not ask him what is wrong. He will tell me if he feels he should, or he wants to. I need his warmth and strength to make myself feel marginally better. It is a quid-pro-quo situation.

“Al’s dead,” Eric says suddenly, voice blunt and gruff. My arms tense around him and my eyes snap open to stare at the side of his neck. “He jumped into the fucking chasm.”

Slowly, carefully, I unwind my arms from around the man and ease onto the couch beside him. “He always was a coward,” I murmur and wriggle into Eric’s side. “He used to cry all the time.”

“This is on me,” Eric snaps. I frown slightly and look up at him curiously. “An initiate under _my_ supervision committed suicide – _that’s_ on me.”

“You cannot control what Al does,” I reply softly. Loud noises jar my head. “Al made up his mind to be a coward,” I state quietly and absently rub a hand across his flat, muscular stomach. “You did your best to train him into what a Dauntless member should be and what he decided to do is not your fault.”

“I would fuck you on this couch, if you didn’t smell of puke,” Eric informs me.

I groan slightly and shake my head. “No sex,” I mumble and burrow into his chest. “It takes too much energy.”

Eric sighs and leans back, wrapping an arm around me. “Yeah, it does,” he agrees and sighs heavily. “I was hoping you’d do the work.”

I cannot even find the energy to elbow him. I close my eyes and settle myself comfortably against him. A part of me is kind of hungry. A part of me wants to heave myself up and get some food, but I am so comfortable in his arms and I do not want to move. I tuck my legs up towards my chest and lay my feet across one of Eric’s thick thighs. He sighs heavily, but pulls me against him and rests his chin on top of my head. His arms wrap so tightly around me and hold me so closely. His smell engulfs me and his warmth surrounds me and my whole body just _relaxes_. Maybe he needs this too, because of Al. He feels responsible, because Al was one of his and now Al is dead. It is not his fault. Al would not have survived initiation. I wish there was a way for me to help him understand that. I think I shall just sit here with him for now. Maybe that will help. The worst part after losing Dean was the crippling loneliness after all.

 

* * *

 

Everyone is drunk, with the exceptions of Tris and myself. Not that I am spending time with the other initiates. In fact, I am attempting to ensure that Nate does not get too drunk due to the fact that he is supposed to be returning to fence patrol tomorrow morning. Eric said that hungover Nate would more than likely topple off the fence and it is better to supervise Nate than get drunk myself. Perhaps people expect me to. However, I do not feel as sad or upset because of Al’s death as people think that I should be. I did not really know him and I was not overly impressed by what I did know of him. I am only here because Eric insisted and persuaded me with his head between my thighs. He really should not be allowed to ask me for things when I am still high from an orgasm.

Nate distracts me from my thoughts by tempting me with one of those red shots. I did enjoy the buzz of being drunk. I enjoyed the way I felt warm and fuzzy and unafraid to let the positive feelings flow. I enjoyed the way I could let myself take control and pursue Eric, rather than waiting for him to initiate things. I did not enjoy the hangover or the vomiting, though. I weigh the pros and cons and then take the shot, slinging it back swiftly. Nate cheers and claps his hands. As long as I limit myself, I see no reason as to why I cannot let myself indulge in a few drinks, despite Tris’ disapproving, disappointed look from across the Pit. She expects me to behave myself. She expects me to control myself in public and act decently, even though she has no right to place those expectations on me. Who is she to me? She is not my friend. She is nothing of any true importance. She is simply one of the only people I can stand to be around.

Another shot disappears down my throat. Nate orders me a martini and has one for himself. I give him the olives upon realising that I do not like them. He gobbles them down happily with a grin. Such a strange man, but he is harmless really. I do find it interesting how his eyes just seem to brighten whenever Eric is in the vicinity. It is almost as though he has romantic feelings for Eric, but I cannot see how that would be possible when I have seen Nate with women. I suppose it could be possible. There are those that have sexual inclinations to both genders, but I have never seen Nate pay any attention to any man other than Eric. It is curious. I want to know the truth behind it all. I might have to get a little drunker to find the wherewithal to delve into someone’s personal life when I know I would resent the questions regarding to my own.

“How did you and Eric meet?” I ask blandly. Nate looks at me, surprised, but not suspicious. Nate is an incredibly trusting person. “You are just so different that your friendship seems implausible to me,” I admit and lean back in the booth we are sat in. There is a small bar off the Pit that Nate insists is the best. It is not the same place we were in the other night.

“I was born here and Eric’s a transfer,” Nate begins and then shoots an uncertain look my way, biting his bottom lip.

“I know he is a transfer,” I assure. “He told me a while ago, but not from where.”

“Oh, right, cool,” Nate nods, relieved, and takes a gulp of his beer. “We were playing capture the flag and he ended up saving my ass,” he grins. “After that, I figured I owed him and tried to pay him back and he got really pissed off with me, but I didn’t give up and I guess he became friends with me against his will.”

“And when did you fall in love with him?” I blurt out.

Fear freezes Nate’s expression in place, his beer bottle halfway to his mouth, and his eyes are full of horror and that fear. Why is he afraid? Perhaps he is afraid of his feelings. He should not be. There is nothing to be ashamed of in being honest with yourself. I tilt my head to the side and watch him curiously as he forces out a nervous laugh and shakes his head, wild curls bouncing. He takes an overly large gulp of beer, the apple in his long throat bobbing tremulously as he gulps. Why is he so afraid? Does he not want Eric to know? I vaguely remember things like that from the time before Dean died. I remember giggling with my friends and desperately praying that my crush never discovered my feelings, even as I hoped he would and would, impossibly, return them. Of course, that was a long time ago. Nate cannot possibly be harbouring the same, teenaged feelings that I once held.

“Nate,” I interrupt his denials and his eyes flicker down to the table. He is tense with his shoulders hunched and his head lowered. He looks like a child waiting for a reprimand from a parent or teacher. “I am merely curious,” I admit with a small shrug and swallow the last of my martini. “I am not in love with him, nor am I entirely sure that I have the capacity to fall in love with him, and am curious as to why and how you fell in love, but do not feel as though you have to tell me,” I explain in a quiet voice, heart splintering a little at my admittance of my shattered emotional state. Must be the alcohol. “I see the way you look at him and wonder if I can ever look at him the same way.”

“He saved my life,” Nate mutters. I blink, surprised. “My dad’s friends with Max and I got roped into helping with the capture the flag class for Eric’s and Four’s first year of teaching,” Nate sighs and slumps in his seat, raking a hand through his hair. “A group of twenty factionless attacked us and, of course, we didn’t have proper guns, just the ones with the neuro-stim darts, and we had a bunch of scared little initiates with us too,” he grins wryly and his eyes flicker up to mine again. “None were like you – fearless and ready to plunge into battle without batting an eyelash.

“Anyway, the factionless attacked us and we were completely unprepared,” he plunders on before I can refute his claims. “Eric took charge, kept shooting, even though the darts wouldn’t do anything of real use, and told me to get the kids back to the train and send backup,” he smiles and his eyes soften. “I told the kids to run and tried to help, which was a really stupid move on my part, because I’ve never been the best fighter or the best shot, but Eric yanked me out of the way.

“A factionless man tried to stab me in the back, like, literally, and Eric yanked me out of the way and took the hit himself. Have you seen the scar on his ribs? That’s where he got it, saving my ass, and he chewed me up and spat me out with this dirty, disgusting knife stuck between his ribs and he dragged me the hell out of there. I thought he was going to break my goddamned neck when I tried to patch him up, but I’m no medic and I think I did more harm than good. Whatever I did, he decided I owed him and I agreed and – and – I don’t know,” he sighs and shrugs, picking at the label on his beer bottle. “I became his gopher while he was recovering and kind of forced my way into becoming his friend and making him a little less robot and a little more human.”

“He has covered his scar with a tattoo,” I tell Nate. Understanding touches his eyes and he nods. “He has an angel on his ribs now.”

“Pretty,” Nate mumbles and I think he feels hurt. “You can love him, Justice, because he’ll need it,” he informs me suddenly. “People like us, the people that get dragged into him, we’ll do everything he needs and we can’t stop ourselves, even if he’ll never love us back.”

“I stopped loving three years ago, Nate,” I murmur and trace the rim of my glass. “I do not have the capability any longer.”

“You won’t have a choice,” Nate promises with a weak grin. “You think I wanted to fall for him? He’s an _ass_ , like, a _huge_ ass and he doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself,” he snorts and stops. “I kind of hate you, you know.”

“That is quite alright,” I assure. “Most people do.”

“No, not because you’re _you_ , in fact I quite like _you_ ,” Nate grins weakly. “I just hate that Eric likes you so damned much.”

“It is a purely physical –”

“No, it’s not,” Nate interrupts and meets my gaze sternly. “He cares about you,” he tells me firmly. “He doesn’t get drunk much, probably because he ends up talking _way_ too much, but he got absolutely wasted on my birthday last week and you were all he could talk about,” he shrugs and leans back with a small, sad smile. “It was all about how irritating you were and how pretty you were and how good you were at kissing, but you were such a tease and you were driving him insane and he couldn’t even screw someone else, because it didn’t feel the same as kissing you and touching you,” Nate tells me and my head swims.

“I – I think I have drunk too much,” I say quietly and tuck my hair uncomfortably behind my ear. Nate looks at me with understanding. I do not want his understanding. “I should go.”

“Go back to Eric’s?” Nate asks quietly. I tense and do not like the turn that this conversation has taken. It was meant to be about Nate and Eric. I was not a part of the equation. “Do you know how many women he’s let stay over?” Nate says mildly. I swallow down the nausea I taste at the thought of Eric’s hands, or mouth, or body on anyone else. I am not foolish. I know he must have been with other women before me. He is attractive and has a lot of power and is extremely good at what he does. I just do not like to think of how he got that good. “None,” Nate answers his own question before my mind gets too dark. “Not a single person was allowed to stay in his bed until you came along.”

“None?” I echo, surprised. Nate shakes his head with a small grin. “Why me?”

“I told you, boss, he cares about you,” Nate laughs and reaches over to squeeze my hand. He keeps hold of it and slips his fingers beneath my palm. “Eric doesn’t care about many people, if he cares about anyone, but he cares about you and I don’t think he really knows what to do with it, so he just fucks you harder.”

My cheeks colour at the blunt language, but I nod and am silently grateful for Nate’s words. We sit in silence and Nate orders some more drinks. We talk about Eric when the new drinks arrive. Nate tells me stories about the early friendship between himself and Eric and I find myself almost smiling at the ridiculous antics they got up to. Of course, they were all instigated by Nate and Eric just exercised his power to keep them from becoming factionless. It did not prevent Eric from threatening Nate with being thrown out of the faction, however. I shake my head, amusement sweeping through me, because that sounds just like Eric. The fact that he did not remove Nate from Dauntless speaks volumes, however. Eric tends to follow through on his threats. The fact that he did not with Nate means that he does like Nate, even if it is not in the way that Nate would like him to.

“Is Eric the only male you are attracted to?” I hear myself ask some drinks later. Somehow, I am now leaning on Nate’s side after he has migrated to my side of the booth. I do not mind.

“Nah,” Nate snorts and shakes his head. “Four’s kinda sexy.”

“I do not think so,” I deny and shake my head. “He is so…short.”

Nate snorts and giggles into his beer. “Everyone’s short compared to Eric,” he points out. I think for a moment, then I nod my agreement and throw down a shot from the tray in front of us. “Hey, I’ve got a question for you, boss,” Nate says and wraps his arm tightly around my shoulders. I lean against him and look up at him curiously. “What’s the sex like?”

“I enjoy it immensely,” I nod and reach for another shot, but a hand wraps around my wrist and a body slides into the booth opposite us. I look up and smile slightly at the sight of a scowling Eric. “Nate, Eric is here,” I say and nudge the man still holding onto me.

“Hey! It’s our favourite leader!” Nate cheers and leaps around the table to throw his arms around Eric’s broad shoulders. He kisses Eric’s cheek soundly and Eric’s teeth grind together angrily. “We’ve been waiting for you,” Nate whines and rubs his cheek against Eric’s bicep.

“I told you not to let her drink,” Eric snaps. “She’s a fucking lightweight.”

“I shall cease drinking immediately,” I promise sagely and hold a hand over my heart. At least, I think I do, but I cannot quite remember which side of my chest my heart belongs in. “After this one more shot,” I decide after a moment.

“ _No_ ,” Eric snarls and snatches the shot out of my hand. I let out a yelp of protest and he tosses the alcohol down his throat. Some leaks out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin and down his neck. I follow the red bead with my eyes, fascinated. “Fuck, that’s fucking disgust – princess?” he cuts himself off with a choked snap of my name as I plant my palms against the table, lean forwards, and lick the trail the bead of alcohol left on his pale skin.

“I like them,” I say cheekily, smiling a little. Nate giggles and claps his hands together. “We should go.”

“Oh, hell no, last time you got started and then ended up throwing up,” Eric scowls. I pout. He stares at me like I have grown another head. “Wipe that stupid look off your face,” he snarls. I lean across the table again and plant my mouth against his. I overbalance and land face first in his chest, feet in the air. Nate and I both laugh drunkenly. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Eric sighs heavily. I wriggle across the table and drag my tongue up one of the bands tattooed on his throat. He grabs my shoulders and shoves me into the booth beside him, scowling when I giggle and wriggle to get comfortable. “ _Stop_ laughing,” he commands roughly and shoves Nate off of him. “You, go home and sober the fuck up,” he orders and stands.

“Aw, but Justice was just telling me about your sex life,” Nate whines. I laugh again and grin down at him. “I knew it!” he crows and points at me. “You totally have dimples!”

“I do?” I gasp and poke my cheeks. “Eric, do I have dimples?”

“Yes,” he snaps and grabs me by the waist. I grin and lean in eagerly for a kiss, but he ends up slinging me over his broad shoulder. I squeak and attempt to stop my skirt from revealing my panties. “If you throw up, you’re cleaning it up,” he threatens and stalks towards the exit.

“They still have a tab to settle!” the girl behind the bar calls. I glare at her when she looks at Eric’s bum. That bum belongs to me. It is my bum. I dig my nails into that when he is riding me hard and fast, which is all the time. “A pretty big tab that her initiate account and Nate’s points won’t cover,” she smirks at me and I glare at her icily until she shudders slightly and looks away.

“Take it out of my account,” Eric bites out angrily. “They can pay me back.”

“Sexually?” Nate asks from the ground. I giggle and he grins up at me. “I don’t know if Justice would appreciate sharing you, man, she seems like the kind to stab you when you least expect it.”

“I would not stab you, Nate,” I promise and nod decisively. “I might stab her,” I throw towards the girl behind the bar. She glares weakly at me. I glare right back and then smile down at Nate. “But, not you.”

“Boss,” he sniffles. “You’re so nice.”

“I’m going to fucking hurl,” Eric snarls and stomps out of the bar with me dangling from his shoulder. “Say bye to Nate, princess, you won’t be seeing him for a while.”

“I know, he is returning to the fence tomorrow,” I sigh and watch the world pass me by, completely upside down. Eric’s bum is also directly in front of me. I could bite it, or squeeze it, or _both_. Ooh. Decisions. It does look very nice in those pants. “Eric, I like your bum,” I announce as we pass some people. I hear someone choke and Eric cusses under his breath. “Do you like my bum? You did bite it –”

“ _Princess, shut up_ ,” Eric bites out through gritted teeth. “You three, forget you saw or heard anything.”

“Yes, sir,” a snide, familiar voice drawls.

Peter.

My eyes snap up and narrow on the smirking asshole. “You are an asshole,” I inform him archly. “And a coward,” I add after a moment’s consideration. “You are many unfavourable things and that mask to help with your shattered… _face_ is an improvement to what was there before,” I decide and pat Eric’s bum. “Okay, we can go now.”

Eric lets out a long suffering sigh and begins walking again, muttering to himself. I cannot quite make out the words, but I doubt that they are favourable towards me. I want to make it up to him. Hm. What can I do to make him happy? Nate did warn me that I would do anything to make him happy. He also said that I would fall in love with Eric, because Eric would need me to. I do not believe that. I cannot fall in love. My love has withered and died, but my lust has not. He awakened my lust. I did not want anyone sexually until the day he kissed me in a stairwell. I did not want anyone until I had his half naked body pressing me into a wall and his hands holding me so tightly against him. I did not want anyone until his hands were on my flesh and his lips were exploring my skin.

The door to Eric’s apartment is thrown open and he strides across the space to toss me carelessly onto his bed. “Eric,” I protest and toss my hair out of my eyes clumsily.

“Stop,” Eric snaps and glares down at me. “The drinking needs to stop,” he insists and grabs the side of my neck to force my head back so my eyes find his.

“I like how it feels,” I protest in a meek voice. “I feel happy.”

“It’s not _real_ ,” Eric snarls. “It’s just the booze talking, okay? It needs to stop before it gets out of control.”

“Don’t – don’t you like me happy?” I whisper. He mutters a swearword and releases me so abruptly that I slam back into the bed and bounce slightly. My skirt bunches up around my thighs, partially revealing my panties, and I stare up at him in confusion. “I haven’t been happy since Dean died,” I mumble and tuck my hair behind my ear.

“If you carry on, there’s not going to be any coming back from it,” Eric warns sharply. He lets out a heavy sigh and sits beside me. He lets me crawl to his side and put my head in his lap. His hand twists into my long hair and gently scrapes his nails across my scalp. “No more drinking,” he says firmly. “Promise me.”

“Okay,” I mumble and shift my head on his thigh. “I promise no more drinking.”

He sighs, a relived sound, and strokes a thumb along the column of my neck. I shiver pleasantly at the sensation and let my eyes flutter closed. His touch always feels so good. I turn my head and press my lips to his palm. He lets me. We sit like that for a moment. My lips stay against his palm and his other hand rests against the curve of my waist. I do not know how long we sit like that before he shifts and gently places my head on the pillows. He strokes my hair out of my face and finds the zipper on the side of my dress. He pries it away from me and removes my shoes and tucks me in with a kiss left on my forehead. I watch him sleepily as he moves into the kitchenette and gets a glass of water, which he sets on the nightstand beside me. That done, he begins removing his clothes and watching that will never get old. He is so perfectly sculpted. He is so masculine and strong and _beautiful_.

As Eric climbs into bed, I slide into his side and place my hand over his angel tattoo. I remember what Nate told me about the day they met and run searching fingers over Eric’s ribs until I find the raised, rough flesh of his scar. I shift and kiss it briefly, before resting my cheek over his heart and closing my eyes. His strong arm wraps around my waist and tugs me flat against his side. His hand slides up my spine and finds the ends of my hair. A soft, happy sigh slips out of me before I can stop it and I kiss his chest, the hair there lightly scratching my mouth. His hand stills in my hair. My own hand is slowly rubbing back and forth against his hard, flat, muscled abdomen above the waistline of his boxers. I shift and tilt my head back to kiss the underside of his chin, stubble tickling my lips. His head tips down and our lips meet in a soft, sweet kiss that leaves me drunker than the alcohol.

It is slow and gentle and careful. His hands map out my body in ways that they have not done previously. It is always hard and fast and rough and I have no complaints, but the way he touches me now leaves me breathless and tingling. There is no rush. He eases himself over me, never breaking his lips from my own, and gently pries my legs open to insert his body between them. His lips begin a descent down my body, lingering between my breasts, dipping his tongue into my belly button, and stopping at the waistband of my panties as my body trembles and small gasps come from my mouth. He feels so _good_. He slides my panties off, one leg at a time, and kisses my ankles after the lacy garment clears the leg they belong to. I am ready to come and he has barely touched me.

The cunnilingus he performs is slow and searching. He takes his time, pulling me higher and higher, but not yet letting me plummet. It is the sweetest torture I have ever received. My hands are in his hair and on his neck and his shoulders, but he does not let me splinter. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls my bottom half closer to his unrelenting, yet impossibly gentle mouth. My legs are over his broad shoulders, heels of my feet digging gently into his back, and he strokes his tongue over my clitoris. I cry out and my body almost shatters, but he retreats before I can. I whimper wordlessly beneath him, almost crying from the sheer bliss my body feels, and he kisses his way back up to my mouth. I cling to him, whimpering against his lips, whispering his name, begging him for more, pleading with him to let me shatter, and he slides into me slowly.

“You – you feel so – so _good_ ,” I gasp, arching into him, hands sliding around his waist, and my head falls back against the pillows. “Don’t – don’t stop, don’t _ever_ stop,” I plead, tears leaking down my cheeks, and his mouth fits so perfectly against my throat.

He fills me completely. I am whole with him inside of me. That single thought sends me tumbling over the edge finally. My whole body arches with a breathless gasp come ripping out of me, his name whispering from me, and white fills my vision. He cradles me against him, holding still as I come down from my high, and he is still buried inside of me. I kiss him, tears in my eyes, and feel him slowly begin to move again. He is so tender and careful, fingers slipping around the back of my neck, and his lips constantly find mine. He pulls out and pushes in with slow, considered undulations of his hips. One hand holds my hip, guiding me against him, and I kiss him gratefully, because I need this man and I am so glad that he is here and he is holding me and he is inside of me.

“Justice,” Eric groans into my neck, hips picking up pace slightly. “I’ll make you happy,” he promises in a rush, voice gruff, hands tightening slightly on me. “I’ll find a way – I’ll make you happy.”

A strangled, whimpering cry rushes out of me as he drags me over the edge again, dragging it out, drawing out every single second until I am sobbing beneath him. He kisses me, harder than he has all night, and snaps his hips sharply against mine as he comes. I clutch at him, gasping, and arch into his firm, hard, _perfect_ body desperately. How can one man make me feel so much when I have been numb for so long? I do not want this to be over. _Please_ do not let it be over. I kiss him pleadingly, trying to drag his orgasm out too, but it does not work. He finishes and hangs over me, lips clinging to mine, breath puffing against my face, and his body presses into mine. His weight is heavy, but somehow reassuring. I wrap my arms tightly around his middle, panting, and kiss him softly.

“You make me happy,” I admit shakily and keep my eyes closed so I do not have to see his expression. His forehead presses against my own and his breath flutters over my face. “You – I – I –” I falter and stop, unsure how to tell him what I want to. “When – when Dean – when he died, I stopped – stopped _feeling_ ,” I stumble over my words and keep my eyes closed. He stays silent over me, still breathing fast, and waits for me to continue. “At first, it – it felt – felt like I was feeling too much, like – like everything was amplified, and everything – everything set me off, but – but I couldn’t take it, because it – it – it _hurt_ , so I just – I stopped and then you – you make me – make me feel,” I stutter and feel his hand stroke over my cheek, brushing aside my hair. “I didn’t want – didn’t want to, because I didn’t know how to, or what to do, but you make me do it anyway and I didn’t even know what it was, but I know now,” I ramble and peek at him cautiously from beneath my lashes. “You make me happy.”

He kisses me fiercely. “Dangerous move, princess,” he says roughly, but cradles me against him, still rested inside of me and between my thighs. “Dangerous move.”

“I am Dauntless,” I tease breathlessly. “I am unafraid of a little danger,” I grin against his lips and _feel_ him chuckle. It vibrates through me and into my very core. I stroke a hand over his cheek, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and kiss him lingeringly. “I’m not afraid of you,” I whisper and feel his hands tighten on me.

“Good,” he rasps, kissing me firmly. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

Pale blue stands out in the sea of black. Everyone sees it. Everyone stares. Everyone wonders. Everyone wants to know what the hell Jeanine Matthews is doing in Dauntless and why she is interrupting the fear simulations. I have yet to go in. This morning’s sessions have only just started and only one person has actually been in so far. Four has just stepped out to summon someone else in, but he stops at the sight of Max and Eric with Jeanine Matthews. I watch them curiously and Eric’s eyes meet mine. A small smile tugs at the corners of his full lips and it takes a sincere amount of control not to fly across the room and attach my mouth to his. For the past two days while we have been on leave from training, we have spent discovering each other and working slowly and tenderly over each other for the most part. He _is_ Eric, after all, and he likes it rough. I do too, but there is something truly breath-taking about the way he explores me so slowly and sweetly.

“Peter, Justice, come with us,” Max orders with a slight frown on his face. He does not seem happy. I glance at Eric and find his expression inscrutable. I stand smoothly and send an icy look at Peter, who smirks back at me. “Save it for the ring,” Max snaps and my eyes narrow on him.

“We are going to the ring? Us two?” I demand before I can stop myself.

“Yeah, princess, you finally get your shot at him,” Eric grins. My eyes flicker back to Peter, who is grinning too, and my own smirk forms on my lips. “Let’s go, move it,” Eric orders and I swiftly move into his side.

Peter follows us and Eric’s hand falls on the small of my back. It is more than he usually does in public. Perhaps he feels the need to touch and take and taste too. My finger hooks into one of his belt loops, just to have a connection with him, and he leans down to whisper instructions into my ear. He tells me Peter’s weaknesses and what he does before a punch. He tells me where to strike and how to move. He tells me what my strengths and what my weaknesses are. I drink it all in and his warm hand pulls me closer to him. Our sides are together as we walk. It would be so easy to share a kiss as we walk, but we do not. That would be a step over the line. People already know of our relationship, but they do not need to see everything. I think some would have heart attacks in shock at the sight of Eric showing genuine affection to someone. I smile a little at the thought and tighten my finger on his belt loop.

We trek down to the training room with Eric’s instructions being whispered in my ear and Jeanine Matthews’s sharp eyes on my back. The unrelenting, cold, searching stare makes my skin prickle and crawl unpleasantly, but Eric’s touch negates that. He consumes me. He holds me and wears a confident smirk. I hope I live up to his expectations. I am confident. All I have to do is get one good hit to Peter’s face and his recovering, healing injuries should debilitate him enough in order for me to take him down. He is cocky and, yes, he is good, but he is also someone that drives straight at someone’s weaknesses and focuses on that. I have no physical injuries at the moment, unless you count the sweet ache between my legs, which I most certainly do not. Besides, Peter will never get anywhere near my intimate parts.

The training room is full of Dauntless members. My feet almost falter, but Eric keeps propelling me forwards with a hand on my back. I spot Bud in the crowd and he grins at me, flashing a thumbs up my way. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips, but I can only nod in acknowledgement before Eric steals my attention once more with instructions and advice. I tilt my head back slightly to look him in the eye and listen carefully to his words. His hand slips around to my waist and he holds me slightly closer to him, the fronts of our bodies lightly pressed together. Warmth spreads lazily through my veins, urging me closer, begging for his lips on my own, but I control myself and perch on the edge of the ring to remove my sneakers. Peter sits not far from me to do the same.

Peter is dressed far more practically for this than I am. He is in sturdy black pants and a tight fitting black t-shirt. I am in black shorts that hug my lower half generously and a camisole type top made of a silky material that feels like water beneath my fingers. I shrug that thought off and I pull my ponytail loose and bind it back in a neat bun. I would not put it past Peter to use Molly’s tactics and yank on my hair, after all. My hands smooth over my waist to ensure my clothes are neat and I rise from my sitting position. I step into the ring, turning my head when a warm hand settles on my back to assist me. I do not have to look to know that it is Eric, but I look anyway. He just nods his wordless encouragement and I roll my eyes at Peter’s impatient snort behind me.

“I do not suppose I could also have a gun,” I mutter at Eric. He laughs shortly and shakes his head at me. “A pity,” I murmur and hear him laugh again as I settle into a fighting stance.

“There are no rules,” Max announces. Surprise flickers through me. I resist the urge to turn and demand answers from Eric. “You’ll be stopped if things look like they’re getting fatal, but, other than that, it’s a free for all.”

“You’re going down, ice bitch,” Peter grins, delighted.

I roll my eyes. “You need more imagination, Peter,” I reply dully and flex my fists. I lunge before the fight is even announced to begin. My fist slams into his ribs and I swiftly dart back out of his range, but he pursues me doggedly, scowling. My body is on tiptoes, despite my training. It just feels easier and more natural. “Are you afraid?” I taunt when he hesitates out of range.

“Go to hell,” he spits, hatred twisting his face behind his mask.

He pounces. I twist to the side and slam my elbow into the side of his neck. He gasps and I do not move out of his reach quick enough. His hand latches onto my bicep and his fist crashes into my sternum, knocking the breath out of me. My chest seizes, body doubling over to protect itself, and his knee collides with my stomach. I crash into the mat and hastily roll out of the way when he goes to stamp on me. A ragged cough is torn from my mouth and I grab his ankle as he is lowering his leg. I wrench him off balance and pounce on top of him. My fists rain down on his face. Blood sprays and he howls furiously. He bucks me off of him and his knuckles split open my cheek.

My blood sprays and my head spins, but I stubbornly shove myself up and block the kick he sends towards my midsection. My bruised, splitting knuckles are thrown into his throat. He chokes and his hands fly up to the abused area. I grab his shoulders and wrench him down into my rising knee. Once, twice, thrice, and then he regains the ability to think and punches me in the abdomen. I stagger backwards and hastily dart to the side to avoid a strong punch aimed towards my face. That would have knocked me off my feet. I grit my teeth and grab his outstretched arm before he has the opportunity to withdraw it. His eyes widen and then narrow on me, but I have already twisted and sent my elbow back into his sternum. He chokes and I bend and manage to fling him over my shoulder using his own momentum. A scream comes tearing out of his throat. His foot slams into my ankle, forcing me to hop away from him like some sort of demented rabbit.

Slowly, Peter manages heave himself to his feet and he spits out a mouthful of blood. “Not nice,” he sneers, revealing bloodied teeth. “ _Cissy_.”

I flinch back as though he has physically struck me. Pain rushes through my veins and I stare at him in confusion and hurt. “Wha – what did you call me?” I whisper hoarsely. He grins widely at me, all bloodied teeth and vicious glee at my obvious pain. “You _do not_ call me that,” I spit. His grin widens.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Cissy?” he mocks. My hands curl into fists. I can hear the mutters of the Dauntless rising around us, replacing the howls and cheers that once echoed through the training room. Peter prowls closer. “Cissy?” he insists and something inside of me just snaps. I almost hear it.

A scream of pure rage rips out of me and I lunge. My hands lock around his throat and we crash into the mat with a ringing thud. He stares at me in horror and fights and struggles against me, but I wrench him upwards and then slam him back down as hard as I can. His head bounces off the mat. He punches me in the ribs, but there is no pain. I tighten my hands around his throat and yank him and slam him back down again. This time, the sound is a sickening crack. His eyes widen and his hands spasm on my ribcage. His face is turning puce and he gasps and chokes and rasps for air. His hands leave my torso to scrabble at the fingers I have wrapped so tightly around his neck. My whole body vibrates with rage. It is hot and burns my blood and drags furious howls of hatred out of me.

“ _Don’t call me that! Don’t call me that! Don’t **ever** call me that!_ ”

Strong arms latch around my waist. A voice bellows in my ear. I refuse to let go and, as I am dragged upwards, Peter is wrenched along with me. He is turning purple. I want him to turn pale. I want him to go cold. I want him _dead_. I know what it is to hold a dead body in my hands. I want him _dead_. I want him dead in my hands so that I never have to hear his disgusting voice ever again. I never want to see his face. I will kill him. He should not dare to utter _that_ name. Only one other person has ever been allowed to call me that. One person called me that. He called me that because he could not say my name when he was learning to speak. That one person is now dead and he died in my arms and this disgusting piece of filth does not have the right to say that name.

“PRINCESS!”

Eric’s roar jars me and sends me jerking back, hands abruptly releasing Peter’s throat. Air rushes into his lungs and he starts hacking and coughing. Eric wraps his arms tightly around my waist and pins me back against his chest. I just stare at Peter, stunned at what I have done. Did I do that? I shrink back against Eric and look down at my shaking hands. Blood leaks from my knuckles and there are bruises blooming over my hands. My fingernails are streaked with blood and so are my fingers. Peter’s blood stains my hands. I have done this. I tremble and Eric turns me into his heaving chest, hand sinking into my wild hair. His chin rests on top of my head and my hands clutch at his shirt. My bruised, bloodied, terrible hands. What have I done? Just who am I exactly?

“He – he should – should not ha – ha – have call – called me tha – that,” I stammer breathlessly, almost sobbing.

“Okay,” Eric mumbles.

“He – he – he is – is no – not allowed,” I stutter.

“Okay, princess,” Eric sighs and strokes my hair. “Okay,” he murmurs and holds me closer, his long legs framing my shaking form.

“Dean – Dean –”

“Your brother called you that,” Eric guesses. I nod tremulously against his chest and hold him tighter. “I’ll deal with him later,” he promises and gently pulls the wild tangles from my hair, the elastic dropping to the blood smeared mat. “You won, you’re okay,” he says quietly. “You’re okay.”

“No, I’m not,” I protest in a whisper. “I’m not okay, Eric.”

Eric does not respond. He just tightens his arm around my waist and sinks his hand into my hair at the back of my skull. My trembling slowly stops and my breathing gradually calms. He still simply holds me against his solid frame, allowing me to greedily feed off of his strength. My eyes close and I feel his lips briefly stroke over my hairline, before he firmly urges me to my feet. His large hands close around my waist when my knees tremble slightly. He holds me as the pain from my fight begins to throb through me and the adrenalin fades away. My ribs pound hotly beneath my skin and bruises and blood stain my flesh. My knuckles burn with pain and my face pulses painfully along my right cheekbone.

“Eric, we need to look her over,” an unfamiliar voice states. I turn my face into Eric’s neck and struggle not to hyperventilate. All I hear is Peter saying _that_ name over and over again. It echoes through my head like some cackling madman. “Eric, she took some pretty hard hits and she might have internal damage,” the stranger insists and a foreign hand touches my shoulder.

My whole body tenses and my fingers clench down on Eric’s shirt, but I am proud that I do not throw my elbow back into the stranger’s face. Instead, I let him and Eric pry me back out into the open. Tears prick at my eyes, but I force them away and stare at the bloodied mat as the medic begins inspecting my numerous, superficial injuries. Blood sticks to my face and some seeps into my mouth. It comes from the cut across my cheekbone, which bleeds profusely and refuses to stop. I wipe the blood, but the medic pushes my hand away and reprimands me sharply. He mutters something about stitches, but the blood pounds so loudly in my ears that I barely hear him. I do not particularly care what he has to say. I just want to go back to Eric’s soft, warm bed and sleep until all the pain disappears. I know, though, that the pain will never disappear.

A needle sinks into the inside of my elbow and, slowly, the blackness seeps in and steals it all away.

 

* * *

 

The final test is today. Peter is actually free from the hospital, but there is a bulky bandage around his head and bruises ring his neck in the shape of my small hands. My hands are still bruised and grazed and there are stitches over my cheekbone. They are tiny and almost unseen, but I can feel them. Eric kisses them as I prepare breakfast, his large hand settling on my naked waist. His flesh is warm and calloused and scrapes across the bare skin of my waist. Perhaps I should not be frying eggs and bacon and bread in my underwear, but I could not find any clothes when I got out of the shower. Most of our clothes appear to be strewn across the bedroom. I really should get around to doing laundry at some point, but I should be able to wrangle an outfit for today.

“I’m liking these,” Eric rumbles with a slight, wicked grin, his cheek against mine as his chest presses against my back. He plucks at the bottom of my black, lacy panties. They show more than they cover. “Where’ve you been hiding these?”

“I bought them when I got my new things,” I answer absently and flip the bacon. “Could you fetch some plates please?”

“Nope,” Eric smirks and nibbles at the side of my neck temptingly. “I’m not hungry for breakfast,” he says, voice low and deep and seductive.

“I am,” I reply simply and turn my head to kiss him briefly. “It is my final test today – I need the sustenance.”

“I need sex,” Eric argues.

“You had sex – multiple times – last night and well into the early hours of this morning,” I retort calmly and step away to get some plates. “I shall, however, consider having sex with you when we have finished eating, provided we have the time,” I relent and hand him a plate. He grins smugly and begins piling food onto the plate. “Some of that is for me,” I point out dully and smile a little when he rolls his eyes and drops some onto my plate. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, princess,” he taunts, but his lips brush over my hairline when I ease into a seat beside him at the breakfast bar. “You feel ready for the test?” he asks me casually, but Eric does not do casual. He plans every word and every action and very rarely allows things slip out without his permission.

“Perhaps,” I answer carefully, pushing some fried bread into the runny yolk of my egg. Eric’s sharp eyes fix on me and I can feel them burning into my skin. “I have been getting shorter times in my simulations, but there are certain situations in the simulation that I am uncertain about handling.”

“Your brother,” Eric states. I nod slowly. “Anything else?”

“My parents are in there,” I admit quietly and push some bread into my mouth. “They – they say certain things that I have never been able to say aloud, things they said to me not long after Dean died, and I am scared that those words are true.”

“What words?”

“I suppose you shall see later today.”

Eric frowns, but then nods and puts his arm around me. I gasp when he yanks me into his lap and cradles me against his exposed chest. His lips find mine and his hands span across my waist once more. There is no demand in the kiss. He just holds me against him and guides my legs so I end up straddling his lap. My arms loop around his neck, my fingers sinking into his hair, and my lips curve into a small smile when he pushes our breakfast out of the way and hefts me up onto the bar. Our lips stay connected, but his fingers hook into the waistband of my panties and I cannot quite stop a small laugh escaping me. He grins against my mouth and pulls my panties down my legs until they are on the floor in a little swirl of lace.

“Take the bra off too – it is the only clean and whole one I have left,” I sigh, as though this is some big chore, and he obliges almost immediately. His lips sweep across my jaw and down my neck and I moan softly, head tilting back. “We need to do laundry,” I muse, as though his fingers are not slipping over my already slick entrance and rubbing my clit. He sighs and nips at my jawbone, sharper than usual. I smile a little wider and thread my fingers into his soft hair. “I am running out of clothes.”

Another bite, this time to my jugular, his fingers sinking into me, and I moan. My head falls back and he begins to all but _feast_ on my flesh. His lips and tongue and teeth sweep over my skin hungrily. He sucks at my breasts, scraping his teeth over my nipples, and leaves marks on my torso. He lays me down, my head hanging over the edge of the breakfast bar, and he buries his head between my thighs. I gasp, body arching sharply against the surface I am laid on, and my fingers twist into his soft hair. My eyes close and I just forget everything except for him. The world melts around me until he is the _only_ thing that exists and the only thing that could ever possibly matter. He knows just where to suck and where to lick and when to scrape his teeth over my clit to make me shatter beneath him.

The world splinters and I whimper and gasp his name. My fingers knot into his hair and I drag him up my body, lifting my head to kiss him firmly. I have gotten used to tasting myself on his lips. I almost enjoy it. It means that something even better is about to come. I can already feel him preparing to enter me. He wrenches me upwards, our torsos smashing together, and he wrenches me onto him in one, swift jerk. A gasping cry comes tearing out of me and I clutch at him hungrily. We move together desperately, fast and hard, and cling to one another. He pushes his face into the side of my neck and he grunts into my skin, which is steadily becoming sweatier and sweatier. I am going to need another shower and I do not even care. I pull him closer and kiss him greedily, our tongues clumsily sliding together. We always get clumsy when we get caught up in the moment.

“Harder,” I gasp, mouth moving across his cheek and down his throat. He groans and gives in to my wishes, fingers digging into my hips almost painfully. My body arches, head falling back, and my hair tickles my back and brushes the bar beneath us. “Oh – _oh_ – Er – Eric!” I choke out and feel the heat sweeping through me, clenching in my stomach and then bursting through me like wildfire. He groans loudly, burying himself up to the hilt in me, and he wrenches me against him to press his face into my neck. “Did you – did you finish?” I gasp. He gives a hard thrust, proving that he has not, in fact, finished. I choke on a moan and my nails sink sharply into his shoulder blades. “We don’t have long,” I manage to say, but my head is swimming and he is all I can focus on properly.

“We can make time,” he grunts and slides out of me. He yanks me down and bends me over the bar, pulling me up onto tiptoes. I almost scream, body bending almost in two, when he thrusts into me and wraps an arm around my waist. “Fuck,” he hisses. “You feel so good,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, a hand pushing into my ass, and I just pant into the black countertop. He unwraps his arm from around my waist and both hands wrap around my bottom, sinking into the soft flesh. “You’re so fucking tiny.”

“You’re so fucking huge,” I retort and smile a little when he laughs smugly. “You know what I – _ah_!” my words are silenced by my own moan. My fingers claw at the countertop and my forehead presses against the cool surface. “Fuck,” I gasp, reaching back to grab his muscled forearm. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” I chant and feel myself fall apart all over again.

This time, Eric follows me over the edge, fingertips biting into my flesh, and his mouth presses against my shoulder in a hot, open mouthed kiss. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he pants into my skin. He rubs his thumbs over my hips and noses my hair. “Breakfast is cold, though,” he smirks and I give a tiny, breathless laugh.

“And whose fault is that?” I retort as we straighten and I absently grab a rasher of bacon from a nearby plate, biting into the cold meat. “I need another shower now,” I sigh. “This is your fault.”

“Have I ever mentioned how much I love your ass?”

“You have, when you decided to bite it that time.”

Eric grins at me and pulls me up onto my tiptoes to kiss me, his hand sweeping my hair back and over my shoulder. I smile against his lips and he lifts me easily, arm wrapping around my upper thighs just below my bottom. He takes me to the bathroom and I let him. What else is there to do? We both need to shower and we are on a deadline. We have places to be. I just have to speed him up in the shower, because, if given the time, he _will_ find a way to have another round. He has remarkable stamina. It is difficult to keep up with him sometimes, but it is not exactly a hardship. I manage to get him out of the shower and dressed and out of the apartment within the hour. That is almost a miracle.

We make our way to the room where the final test will take place. His hand is against the small of my back and my head is tilted back to look at his face as we talk. There’s a small smile on his face and I can feel one of my own in place. The tension melts away when I am with him. It should not. He is such a dangerous man and I should not relax around him, or trust him, but I do. I listen to his teasing with a smile and elbow him when he goes too far, which is often. He just tickles his fingers teasingly over my ribs when I do so. My fingers lace through his smoothly and he sighs and folds his long fingers over my hand, calloused thumb stroking over my knuckles. It feels nice. He makes me feel steady and strong and settled. We are nearing the final testing room and I cannot quite stop myself from leaping up onto tiptoes to kiss his jaw briefly before we reach the others.

“Princess, now is really not the time,” Eric sighs, but brushes his lips over my forehead smirks down at me, but the smirk is closer to a smile than usual. “Go sit down, princess,” he murmurs and disengages his hand from my own. He places his hand against the small of my back and pushes me into the waiting room where the others are already gathered with Four. “Sorry we’re late,” Eric states with no hint of apology in his smug tone whatsoever.

“Stop being smug,” I chide automatically. Eric rolls his eyes, puts an arm around my waist, and wrenches my back against his broad chest. I glare up at him and he kisses me firmly, just to prove a point. “Delightful,” I drawl and he flashes me a quick grin, before he drops me carelessly into a seat and struts away, arrogant and smug all in one.

Four coughs. I glance up at him and raise an eyebrow in question. He just purses his lips in disapproval and continues his speech about what to expect. More than once, his eyes meet Tris’ and the attraction and the connection between them is obvious. That means he has no right to judge Eric and myself. I roll my eyes and settle back into my seat, tuning Four out. Eric already gave me this speech and a lot more advice besides. He told me how to fight what fears I confessed to him, which were not many, and Four just left me to flounder and struggle in my terror. I will never be able to forgive him for that. He is supposed to teach me, but he did little to help me through my fear simulations. He just told me to work my way through it. He did not tell me how. Eric did. Eric is always taking care of me.

Slowly, people start going into the testing room. One by one, they emerge, pale and shaking and sweating, and I watch them apathetically. They really need to find some courage. We are Dauntless, after all. They may not be after today, however. I just sit and watch them go in and come out and ignore the hateful, yet wary glower of the boy sat as far away from me as possible. I do notice that there is a good sized space around me, but it does not matter. I have Eric and I have Nate and I am not alone any longer. Solitude does not gnaw at my insides. It has not since Eric has allowed me to sleep beside him. It has not since Nate just began acting like my friend one day. It is a small step, but from where I was, it is a giant leap. I have been alone for so long that having just two people is enough to pull me from the pit I once belonged in.

“Justice,” Four calls and I stand smoothly, brushing some invisible dust from the fabric of my black jeans. I follow him into the testing room and almost falter at the sight of the Erudite and Dauntless clustered around the shiny room. Four leads me to a raised dais where a chair waits for me. My eyes find Eric briefly and he nods quickly to me in silent support from his spot with the other leaders and Jeanine Matthews. Some of the tension eases away from my shoulders and I slide into the chair, pulling my hair off of my neck. “You know what to expect?” Four asks, picking up a needle. I nod and settle against the chair comfortably. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Shock skitters through his eyes. I have never acknowledged those words before, but today I have. I keep my eyes on the ceiling, take a deep breath, and feel the needle pierce my skin. I know what is in there. The problem is that, when I am in there, I will not know that it is just a simulation. It feels so real inside there. I will feel Dean’s blood on my hands. Just the thought makes my heart spike and I close my eyes firmly, even though I know what will be dancing across the lids of them soon. My fingers clench against the leather seat beneath me and the simulation falls heavy and leaden in my skull. It seeps through my veins and steals my awareness, leaving me in the middle of the city.

The streets are empty. It makes me suspicious. My eyes cast around the perimeter in search of some kind of weapon and my gaze lands on an abandoned tyre iron. It is not my first choice, but it will have to do since there are no convenient guns laying around. My lips pinch together in disapproval, but I flip the iron in my hand and stride through the streets in search of _someone_. I shall make my way towards Dauntless. If that proves fruitless, Erudite. The Erudite tend to have the majority of the answers and, if they do not have the answers, they can find them. This is just odd. There is no one around. The streets are deserted and that is not normal. A suspicious frown creases my face and pinches my lips as I sweep my gaze over the streets and struggle to find some form of life. Just where is everyone? There are no factionless, not even any stray dogs, and it is just plain _odd_.

Something scurries above me. Hair raises on the back of my neck and I turn and tilt my head back to find the source of the noise. A rat squeals and leaps down at me, long yellow teeth bared. I yelp, stagger back, and the rat’s teeth sink into my forearm when I raise my arms to block my face. Another squeal and another rat latches onto my leg. I swing my arm violently and the rat attached to my flesh smacks into the wall with an audible crack. The tyre iron is swung and I send the rat on my leg across the street. There is another rat that leaps for my face, followed by so many others, and I hit them like they are baseballs and the rod of iron in my hands is the bat. Blood trickles down my skin in hot, sticky rivulets and dirt clings to my skin. It is absolutely horrible.

Abruptly, one of the rats is snapped up by a snake. I tense, gulping, and react before the snake can latch onto me. The pipe collides with its flat skull and the monstrous reptile hisses furiously at me, launching itself forwards. My skin crawls and I swing the pipe harder, bringing it down over and over again until the horrible thing just stops moving. It lays there in a limp pile of scales with its blood and gore over my new pants. These are new pants. I like these pants. They show off my legs amazingly. They cling in all the right places and do not sag anywhere. I have now ruined my pants. This snake has ruined my new pants and my new shoes. My _new_ shoes! I glare down at the blood on my ankle boots. This is not okay.

With a roll of my eyes and a snort of disgust, I take a step forward and gasp when my body suddenly begins to plummet. The ground cracks and crumbles beneath me and I just freefall. It feels just like the time I jumped off the building. I had no clear view of where I was going or where I was going to land and I was left completely out of control. I do not enjoy being out of control. I slam my eyes closed and let myself fall. There must be an end to this. There must be a bottom, just like there was on that first day in Dauntless. I am Dauntless. I am not afraid to fall. I cannot be afraid to fall. I am not afraid. I am not afraid. Oh god. I am _not_ afraid. Please. How do I not be afraid? I don’t know what to do. I need someone to tell me what to do! I’m scared! I’m so scared! I’m never going to stop falling!

 _Just relax, princess, and let yourself fall. Don’t panic. Just fall_.

The voice is deep and rumbling and sounds like Eric. I follow its instructions and let out a deep breath, eyes fluttering open to watch the sky getting smaller and smaller, until my back slams into hard ground and knocks the air completely out of my lungs. I choke and gasp for air. My fingertips dig into the soil beneath me and some more gets thrown on top of me. Some lands in my mouth and I splutter, spitting it out and forcing myself up. My back gives a twinge of protest, but I still stand. I stand and glare at the faceless men throwing dirt on me. The dirt is steadily rising. It reaches my knees now. It makes it difficult to move. I wrench my legs out of the earth with some difficulty, hissing when I sink back into the loose soil. I claw at the walls, struggling to find leverage to pull myself up.

Pain explodes through the side of my head and my body collapses back to the ground. Blood runs down the side of my head, sticking my hair together, and I blink blearily at the earth pouring in around me. No. This cannot be happening. No. I stagger up to my feet and almost gag at the nausea that swims through my stomach. I have to hold the side of the hole that I am stood in to stay upright. Another shovel is aimed for my head. Clumsily, I stagger out of the way and grab the shovel. I wrench the shovel and its wielder into the hole. I club the faceless man over the head and take a moment, before I heave myself up and slam the butt of the shovel into another’s gut. I feel so dizzy. I want to throw up. I really do, but I cannot give into it. I have to power through it.

The faceless men melt away, leaving me more confused than I have felt since all of this began. Where have they gone? I turn, but the Candor district is springing up around me and my heart is suddenly tripping and I know where I am. I know these streets. I know these streets from my worst memories and the most horrifying nightmares. My hands clench into my pants, but the pants are gone. In their stead is a black and white sundress that I remember an Amity nurse peeling off of my body and replacing with a paper hospital gown. I remember the way the fabric floated around my knees and clung to my developing torso. It was a dress I loved because it was far more daring than anything my parents had previously allowed me to wear. I wore it because I wanted to show off to some boys I liked in the park I took Dean to.

“Cissy!” a bright voice calls and pain stabs through my chest. I blink tearfully and Dean races toward me, arms outstretched to hug me. Automatically, I drop into a crouch and catch him. My arms wrap around his small frame and his skinny arms coil around my neck. He presses his face into my hair and giggles happily, the smell of sunshine and happiness surrounding him. “Hi, Cissy!” he laughs and pulls back to grin at me, his brown eyes dancing at me brightly.

“Hi, Dean,” I whisper shakily and brush his fluffy brown hair out of his eyes. “Where have you been?” I ask, framing his face with my hands. “Where have you _been_?”

“What you talking about?” he grins and wraps a hand into my hair, tugging gently. “I’m right _here_ , Cissy.”

“Right, yes, of course,” I answer, feeling confused. It must have been the knock on the head. I did get knocked on the head, right? “Come on, Deano,” I smile and straighten. I hold his hand firmly. I have to keep hold of him. I have to keep him safe.  “Let’s go to the park.”

“Okay, Cissy,” he agrees happily and skips along beside me, humming cheerfully. I laugh softly and scoop him up easily. I used to have trouble, I am certain, but this time I easily lift him onto my back in a piggyback ride. “What are you doing?” he laughs and wraps his arms tightly around my neck.

“Well, you walk too slowly,” I tease and stride into the park. I let him slither down to the ground and spy the jungle gym. “Race you!” I crow and bolt across the park with the protesting Dean scrambling after me.

“That’s not fair, Cissy! You’re too fast!” Dean cries and I turn my head to grin at him wickedly. “ _Cissy_!” he wails and I hear the frustration in his voice.

I turn on my heel and snag him around the waist as he runs past me. He squeals and I sweep him up to kiss his cheek, before I drop him and let him scramble up the jungle gym. I laugh at him and lean against the lower bars to watch him clamber over the bars clumsily. Honestly. It is almost embarrassing at this point. I raise an eyebrow and absently correct his form. He stares at me as though I have grown another head and drops down the ground. I just shrug and watch him go with this strange ice seeping through my veins. Why do I feel afraid? My mind feels foggy and there is something trying so hard to come screaming to the surface, clawing at my brain and fighting to get out.

“Dean,” I call warily. “Dean, come back, it’s time to go home.”

“Not yet, Cissy,” Dean argues and stops on the side of the road. I move towards him, almost running, and fear pulses through my veins like poison. “Cissy, there’s a cat!” he shouts and points. Something clogs words in my throat and leaves me barely able to breathe, let alone tell him to get away from the road. “It’s gonna get hit!” he cries and I can’t move fast enough.

“Dean! _Don’t_!”

He steps out. There’s horrid screech of tyres and then his tiny body flies. He always wanted to fly. He wanted to be like a bird. I remember him saying so. This is not how he wanted to fly, but I can only stare at him and hear this scream of heartbreak and denial come tearing out of my throat. Somehow, I’m beside him and my hands are slowly stroking his hair out of his bloodied face. He stares up at me with confused eyes. Pain radiates from his big brown eyes and I hate the look of them. I whimper his name and carefully pull his head into my lap. He chokes on his own blood. I see it bubbling up over his paling lips and wipe it away with shaking fingers. Tears blur my vision, but I have to look at him. I blink the tears away and rub my thumb over his cheekbone. Blood spurts out of a cut on his face and I whimper.

“You’re okay,” I whisper. “You’re going to be okay, Deano, I promise, just hold on, okay? Just hold on and someone will come and they’ll fix you,” I babble and cradle him against my chest. His blood is hot and thick and seeps through my dress to my skin. He’s staining me. He’s staining every part of me. “Someone will fix you,” I whimper. He grabs my hand and I let him. I hold him as tightly as I dare. He’s so fragile and delicate right now. I can’t hold him too tight. “So – so you hold on, okay? You hold on and someone will show up and they’ll fix you, Deano, they’ll fix you,” I choke out through the tightness in my throat. “You’re going to be okay.”

Even as I say the words, I know I’m lying. I can feel the way his breathing stutters and shudders and his pulse is erratic and weak beneath my fingertips. He clutches at me with weak, trembling fingers and I feel pleas come bubbling out of my mouth. I beg him to stay. I beg him not to leave me. I beg him to _live_. He doesn’t answer my pleas. I feel him go still beneath my hands. I watch the light leave his beautiful eyes until they stare at me, dull and empty like marbles. I choke on sobs, harsh, wracking things that leave me gasping and shuddering, and feel a scream come tearing out of me. I pull him up against my chest and bury my face into his blood slick hair. I cry loudly into his skin and feel the pain shattering me from the inside. I can feel my heart tearing apart. I can feel my soul being rent.

I am no longer whole.

Back and forth. Breathe. Back and forth. Breathe. Back and forth. Breathe. Back and forth. Breathe.

“What have you _done_?!”

My head snaps up and my parents stare down at me hatefully. “Wha – what?”

Mom grabs me, wrenching me to my feet, and she hits me and claws at me and screams. “ _You killed him! It’s your fault! You killed him_!” she shrieks. I’m too shaken to fight back. She grabs my face, her nails driving into my cheeks painfully, and forces me to look at her. “It should’ve been _you_ ,” she hisses.

I rip myself out of her grip and stagger back, shaking my head slowly, and gasp when a strong, masculine hand grabs the back of my neck. The thick fingers wrap harshly into my hair and I cry out a little when he yanks on my hair. My father glares down at me. I squirm, some form of memory telling me how to escape, but I move too late. The back of his hand crashes into the side of my face and I slam into the ground in my blood soaked dress. It smells like Dean’s blood. I smell like Dean’s blood. I look like I’ve bathed in it. I just lay there and stare at my hands, until a foot slams into my throat and pins me to the ground. He glares down at me so hatefully.

“You killed him,” Dad says in a dark, loathing voice.

“I know,” I say dully. “I know.”

And I shatter.

My body just shatters and the world splinters. I see pieces of myself floating past me. My eyes won’t close. I just stare at my little splinters. Somehow, with no hand, I reach up and catch a piece of my broken self. A little tattooed piece with Dean’s name on it. I cradle the piece to my chest for a moment and trace the thread that makes up his name. Then, I press it into place where my wrist should be. I catch another bit and press it into place too. Another. Another. Another. I keep putting them into place until I am whole once more and stand, garbed in black like a Dauntless. I am Dauntless. I chose Dauntless. I ran from the truth, because the truth hurts. I chose bravery and lies, like a coward. I am Dauntless. I will always be Dauntless. I have to be, because that is what I chose.

“No,” I whisper and adjust my leather black jacket. “I did not.”

The world brightens and my body jerks and I am staring at Four. His hand is on my shoulder and he is saying something, but I shove his hand away and sit up on shaky arms. I feel sick. My entire body heaves with the deep breaths I pull in and release. I breathe shakily and push a hand through my hair, tensing when a hand lands on the back of my neck. My head snaps up and my eyes meet blue-grey ones that have my body relaxing before my brain fully comprehends what is going on. He puts an arm around me and effortlessly lifts me from the chair. He puts my feet on the ground and his large hands take my waist to keep me upright. For a second, I lose myself in him. I lean forwards and put my forehead against his broad chest. I pull in a deep, shuddering breath of his scent and feel myself stabilising.

“I didn’t kill him,” I whisper.

“No, princess,” Eric states. “You didn’t kill him.”

“I wasn’t fast enough, but I didn’t kill him.”

“That’s right.”

“I should go now.”

“I’ll find you later, princess.”

“Okay.”

He holds me a moment longer and then lets me leave. As I brush past him, I feel his fingers linger on my hand and his eyes are heavy on my back. My knees feel like water, but I somehow manage to walk from the room and through the waiting area. The few remaining initiates stare at me and Tris half stands, concern in her eyes, but I brush her off with a frown. I cannot deal with her worry right now. I cannot deal with her pity at any time. I ignore her and make my way to Eric’s apartment. I just want to sleep for a while. I kind of want a shower to wash away the lingering sensation of blood clinging to my skin. Dean’s blood. I can still feel Dean’s blood on my skin. I rub my hands across my midriff, wrinkling the fabric of my V-neck sweater. For once, I do not even care. I do not care that my clothes are rumpled and my hair is not sleek and straight, as I normally prefer it. Instead, the dark locks fall in slightly tangled waves around my face, unbound. There was no time this morning after Eric distracted me.

The door opens easily to Eric’s apartment and our clothes are strewn over the bedroom area and the breakfast bar is still a mess. I sigh and the perfectionist aspect of my personality kicks in. I start to tidy up before I can quite stop myself. I want to shower and sleep, but I just clean instead. I lose myself in the menial activity and my head goes blissfully empty. That is all I want. I just want to not think. I want to not remember what just happened. I want to not _feel_. I want the numbness back. Eric stripped that numbness away and left me raw and exposed, but now he is not here to deal with it. He is busy and that leaves me trembling and unsure of how to deal with my raging emotions. I locked them away because I was not able to handle them and now they are boiling over and I do not know what to do.

 

* * *

 

Flowers are extremely hard to come by in Dauntless, but I find them. I find them and I leave in the most modest dress I own. My feet feel heavy, but I determinedly walk. I have to do this. I need to. The flowers are dark red, like blood, but appropriate, I suppose. It is cold and the wind whips my dress around my knees. The cropped jacket I wear does little to help with the wind. The plastic wrapped around the bouquet rustles loudly on the silent streets. It makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle beneath my ponytail. Why am I doing this? I should be celebrating finishing initiation. Instead, I am striding through dark streets to a place that I have no desire to be in and no one knows where I am. I did not tell Eric. He was working. I did not tell Nate. He is back on the fence. I have no one else to notice my disappearance.

The park looks different in the dark, almost sinister and ominous. The streetlights glow a soft orange. There are no cars or buses on the roads. It is just me and a few factionless. The factionless keep their distance, prowling at the edge of their perimeter. A few Dauntless patrol, but I have yet to see any. I am unconcerned with them. They can tell Eric if they like, but I am not doing anything wrong. I am just learning to let go of something I held onto unnecessarily for so long. The photograph crackles in my pocket. I cannot decide whether or not I should let that go just yet. I do not think I will. It is a part of me and holds happy memories, rather than the painful ones that I allowed it to be made of. I saved it to have a piece of him with me. He should not be stained with sadness and regret and pain. He will not be any longer. At least, I will try to discard those notions when I allow myself to think of him.

My feet stop. The streetlamp glows over me. I crouch and place the flowers at the base of the light. “I am here to apologise, Deano,” I force myself to say, voice low. The wind softens a little, almost as though in respect. “For refusing to even speak your name due to my own pain, for becoming the person I am, and for allowing our parents to lock you away, like you never even existed,” I say quietly and straighten, smoothing the skirt of my dress. “You deserve more than that and I will endeavour to keep your memory alive, because you are no longer with us.”

With a final, stiff nod, I turn on my heel and jog towards the train tracks. The train is due soon. I have no wish to wait around for the next one, but my feet slow when Erudite cars sweep past me. Where are they going at this time? I shake off the curiosity and haul myself up the iron tower that leads to the platform. I have only a few minutes before the train is due. It gives me a moment to catch my breath and realise just how much I have changed since my Choosing Ceremony two months ago. It feels like a lifetime. Before, I was gasping for air doing exercises like the one I just performed. Before, I trusted no one. Before, I was alone. Before, I was miserable. Now, I can easily do such tasks. Now, I have someone I can lean on, even though a part of me _knows_ that he will destroy me just as soon as he feels like it. Now, I have Eric and I have friends, though I am hesitant to apply the word to certain people. Now, I do not feel so heavy or suffocated. Now, I feel almost content. Sometimes, I even feel happy.

The train curves around the corner and I heave myself into it easily. Unsurprisingly, it is empty. The Dauntless are all at the compound for the party at the Welcoming Ceremony. I should be there. Eric has probably noted my lack of presence by now. I will be back soon enough. My eyes fall closed as I lean against the wall of the train. My mind throws up the memory of going to the fence, when I fell asleep on Eric at his insistence. It was the first good sleep I had had in _years_. He chased away the nightmares. He still does. He does not even try. He just does it. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. Now, I spend every night in his strong arms and have done for the past week and a half. He has yet to grow bored of me. I wonder when he will get bored, because he has said that he will. I hope he gives me fair warning so that I can prepare myself for the emotional blow.

It does not take long for the train to reach the compound and I am soon striding into the party. I see Tris with her friends and Four. She nods and smiles at me. I return the nod, but not the smile. Peter is alone. Molly and Drew must not have made it. My eyes flicker to the scoreboard glaring on the balcony where the leaders spend their time. My name is on there. I am third, seven seconds slower than the second ranking initiate: Uriah. I do not believe I have ever met him, but, unsurprisingly, Tris is first by a relatively wide margin. Peter is fourth by a second and a quarter. That must be killing him. I have no desire for a fight tonight, however, and choose to avoid Peter’s corner of the room. I wonder if he feels like the loneliness as heavily as I do. I doubt it. He will stew in his plans of vengeance. I have no doubt about that.

The air suddenly turns to ice in my lungs when my eyes finally find Eric. He is lounging on one of the benches, back against the table, legs spread, and, between them, stands the woman from the clothing store. Her eyes find me first and she flashes me a triumphant grin. Her hands are on Eric’s shoulders, but she slides them down his chest when her gaze meets my own. Anger simmers in my stomach. My hand curls into a fist. Eric has yet to see me. He is speaking to one of the people from Nate’s birthday celebration. I cannot remember the man’s name. It is unimportant. Eric just lets the woman lean over him, her breasts almost falling out of her top and into his face, and her hands are getting incredibly close to his waistband. The anger burns hotter in my belly. My other hand curls into a fist. My feet carry me swiftly through the crowd.

“Princess,” Eric grins as the woman ends up on the ground, my hand fisted in her hair. “I thought you were against hair pulling,” he says mildly as she squawks and struggles. It only serves to make me wrench on her horrid, dry extensions sharply until she cries out. “Necessary preventative measures ringing any bells?”

“I am against hair pulling when I am the victim,” I retort sharply. She smacks my thigh. I kick her hard enough in the ribs that she doubles over and has trouble breathing.

“Ah, good, just so I know,” he nods mockingly and stands smoothly. He towers over me. “Nothing happened, princess,” he sighs and takes my hand. “Let the stupid bitch go,” he encourages and works my fingers free from her disgusting hair. “Not that I don’t find this jealous side of you kinda hot.”

“I am not jealous,” I snap immediately.

He grins and drops back into his seat, in the same position as before, and tugs me in as close as possible with his hands on my hips and his eyes dancing. “Of course not, princess,” he shoots back, amusement glimmering in his eyes. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I took Nina to my place instead of you tonight?”

That anger burns through my veins like fire and my fingers dig into his shoulders. “You would not let her stay,” I point out. He shrugs and his eyes flick away from me. I lean in closer and my lips skim over the shell of his ear. “I am the only one you have ever let stay.”

His fingers bite into my hips. “Nate needs to keep his mouth shut,” he mutters. I feel a small smile curve my lips, triumph soothing my anger. It is true then. “I need to talk to you anyway,” he sighs and glances at his companions. “ _Go_ ,” he snarls and they hastily disappear. The people at the table just vanish at his command and a glance of those icy eyes. It is rather fascinating. “We’re giving everyone trackers,” he whispers in my ear. A frown creases my face in confusion. “You’ll get one too, princess, but, tomorrow, I need you to stay in my apartment.”

“Why? Tomorrow, I am meant to choose where I am supposed to live and what job I do,” I protest, voice as low as his. My eyes find his and there is a fierceness to them that makes me wary. “Eric, what is happening tomorrow?” I insist and lean a little closer. Our foreheads touch lightly as he sits me on his lap, my knees falling either side of his muscled thighs. “Is it to do with the Divergents?” I breathe, barely audible, especially in the roar of Dauntless.

“Yes,” he admits and scowls. His hand lands on my cheek, surprisingly gentle, and his thumb rubs over my cheekbone. “We’re going to do something you probably won’t agree with and I’ll explain everything after, but I need you to promise me that you won’t get involved unless I come and get you.”

Uncertainty swoops through me, turning my stomach, and my teeth find the inside of my cheek. “Eric,” I say slowly, unsurely, and feel his fingers dig deeper into my hips. “Stay safe,” I beg instead of voicing my fears regarding the situation. “And explain everything as soon as you can.”

Eric stares at me, shock in his eyes, and his fingers dig so deeply into my flesh that he will more than likely leave bruises. “You want me to come back?” he sounds uncertain, almost hesitant, as though he has never had someone wanting him to come back.

“Of course I want you to come home,” I answer immediately and smooth my hands over his cheeks. His stubble rasps against my palms. “You are the only one that just accepts me the way I am.”

“Home,” he echoes, like it is some foreign word that he has never heard before. I frown at him worriedly and suddenly feel like he needs protection and shelter. He is so big and strong that the notion is ridiculous, but, somehow, there is a vulnerability in his eyes suddenly. “You reckon what we have is home?” he asks and his voice is not is scathing or insulting. He sounds genuinely curious.

“Well,” I say slowly, considering my words with a small frown. “I feel secure in your apartment, feel safe, and I look forward to going there, because I know I will not be judged, or shunned, or made to feel…unwanted,” I choose my words carefully and watch his eyebrows furrow slightly. “From what I remember, that is what home felt like, but I am not wholly certain my memories are the things to rely on.”

“Better than my memories of childhood, trust me, princess,” Eric snorts. I look at him curiously and slide a hand down his thick arm until my fingers slip smoothly through his, locking together easily. I feel like he needs the physical connection. “My parents only wanted the best and the smartest,” he begins haltingly. I frown. I do not believe I am going to like where this story leads. “I had an elder sister, two years older than me, and she wasn’t like you were with your brother,” he sighs and leans back against the table more comfortably, arms wrapping around my waist as his eyes drop from mine. “She was…cold, not cold like you, but a cruel kinda cold, liked to push her successes in my face, and was just an all-round bitch unless she thought that someone could help further her own agenda.”

“Sounds delightful,” I say dryly and stroke my thumb over his scabbed knuckles. “That is not how older sisters are supposed to act.”

“Yeah, I never knew that until I saw your fear sim,” he admits quietly. I tense a little. “I kinda guessed the sort of sister you were when you told me about him and when you showed me your tattoo, but your fear sim just confirmed what I guessed,” he murmurs and his thumb strokes over my lower lip. “You loved him so much you would’ve died for him.”

“Eric –”

“Princess, that’s how siblings are supposed to feel,” he interrupts and sighs. “We just felt resentment for each other when we surpassed one another,” he states. “My life was a constant competition with her and she won when I transferred and ‘betrayed’ my family.”

“What does she do now? Do you know?” I ask. He shakes his head. “Then, clearly, she is unimportant and you, Eric Coulter, are a leader,” I whisper into his ear. “You _rule_ Dauntless and she is not important enough to reach your radar.”

His arms tighten around my waist and his lips stroke over my cheek. “Thank you, princess,” he whispers. I merely nod and smile a little when he captures my mouth with his own. I squeeze his hand and shiver when he sucks on my bottom lip, stroking his tongue over it. “Maybe one day you can say that to her face,” he smirks and I breathe out a soft, unamused laugh.

“Oh, if I ever meet your sister, I will be breaking her face almost as spectacularly as I broke Peter’s,” I retort dryly and smile when he laughs and slips a hand around the back of my neck, stroking his thumb over my jaw gently.

We sit there in silence for a moment, his warmth radiating into me, and our hands stay linked against his thigh. I can feel the looks of others in our faction. I can sense their surprise. I can read the atmosphere easily, despite my eyes being on Eric and only Eric. It is what Candor taught me to do. A glance around tells me that the woman from the clothing store is staring at us with hate in her eyes and most people just look stunned, no doubt at Eric’s closeness with me and how relaxed he seems. He _seems_ relaxed, but he is never relaxed out in the open. I can feel the tension bunched in his broad shoulders and the way his fingers are just a little too tight against my hip, though the hand he has on my neck is gentle. He still strokes his thumb over my jaw, occasionally brushing my lower lip.

“You came third,” Eric states suddenly, his voice low. I just nod. “It qualifies you for leadership training, if you were interested in that.”

“I thought I was being recruited for sniper training,” I frown, confused. He shrugs. “I do not think I would make a good leader,” I admit carefully. “Capture the flag proved that much.”

“I think we’d all prefer you to the Stiff, princess,” Eric snorts. I roll my eyes. “She’ll get us helping the factionless.”

“That would be extremely unpleasant,” I mutter and scrunch my nose in distaste. “The factionless need to be controlled – not coddled.”

Eric looks at me with approval and a small smile curves his full lips. “This, princess, is why we get along so well,” he teases. “You see things the way I do.”

“I doubt that,” I retort with a small amount of humour and squeeze his hand. “You like being mean to people – sometimes I find it necessary, but I do not enjoy it as much as you do.”

“You enjoy hurting Peter,” he points out. He is correct about that.

“I do, but that is because he is even worse than you when it comes to being an asshole,” I sigh and shake my head. “Can we not talk about Peter? He brings the mood down.”

With a short laugh, Eric nods and adjusts me on his lap. I must be getting heavy for him. “I don’t want to rush you, princess, but you will need to make a decision quickly in regards to leadership, especially with what’s happening tomorrow,” he informs me, serious once more. I frown in confusion. “The other leaders think you’re strong enough to handle it and I do too, I do, but I don’t want you to choose this and regret it, princess.”

“Leadership is a heavy responsibility,” I say quietly. He nods. “Eric, what is happening tomorrow? Why is my decision so important in regards to it?”

He looks around and then shakes his head. Clearly, we cannot talk about it here. He stands smoothly, arm wrapping around my waist to support me, and he sets me gently on my feet. Our hands release, but, as we walk side by side, his palm slots against mine. It is the simplest gesture. It sends warmth curling through my whole body. I look up at him and he keeps his eyes ahead of him as he guides me through the crowd that parts for him. They respect him, but they fear him. I wonder if that is lonely for him. I wonder if that is why he lets me stay close, because I am one of the few that is not fearful of him. I know what a burden loneliness can be. It is heavy and it is cold and it is suffocating. I do not wish to feel it again and I could not wish it on him, even when I first met him I would not have wished it upon him.

“Justice!” an unexpected voice calls. Eric and I both turn our heads to see Tris looking at us uncertainly, a small, nervous smile on her lips. “I was wondering if you wanted to join us,” she offers and gestures awkwardly to her table. The occupants of it do not seem to share her wishes, except perhaps Christina, who flashes me a small smile and a roll of her dark eyes. “We haven’t seen you in a while,” Tris continues and she glances at Eric nervously, gulping. “We don’t all think what Peter does.”

“That I slept my way to a decent ranking?” I question mildly. Eric smirks a little. “Eric,” I warn and he just flashes me a grin.

Christina, Will, and the Dauntless born at the table are staring at us with wide eyes, as though we have grown second heads. Eric does not seem to notice. His eyes are flashing over the crowd, his grin slipping back into his usual, stern expression. I squeeze his hand lightly and his eyes snap back down to mine. The smallest smile possible touches his lips and I have to hold myself back from darting up onto tiptoes to kiss him. He is so handsome and, when he grins, he reminds me of a naughty schoolboy caught misbehaving, all mischief and glittering eyes. The past few days have seen him getting tenser and jumpier. Since I got back from visiting Dean’s dying place, he has been a little looser and I have a feeling he indulged in a few drinks before I arrived and pulled that bitch away from him.

“Thank you, Tris, but I am afraid I shall have to pass on this occasion,” I state. Eric’s fingers tighten a little around mine. He shifts closer and his breath puffs gently against the top of my head. “We were in the middle of discussing something, I am afraid, but rain check?” I suggest and Tris smiles.

“Yeah, of course,” she nods and her eyes flicker to Eric apprehensively. “If you, um, change your mind, we’ll be here,” she offers and waves her hand at the table.

“Okay, thank you,” I reply. “Congratulations on passing,” I add to the others and, with a final nod, turn and walk away with Eric. “What about the second ranking initiate? Uriah? Would he not be a good candidate for leadership?” I question Eric quietly as we reach a corridor that is almost deserted. “Why skip straight to me?”

“Because, Uriah’s an idiot,” he snorts. “Think Nate.”

“I would not want Nate as a leader,” I say immediately, nose wrinkling. Eric snorts and nods. “People do not like me, Eric, they have no wish to follow me.”

“You think people like me?” he demands and pulls me to a halt. He sighs and we stand opposite one another, almost chest to chest, but not quite touching, except our hands. We still hold hands. “People are _afraid_ of me, princess, and _that’s_ why they follow me,” he snaps. “They know that, if they cross me, bad things happen and they know that about you too after what happened with Peter.”

“Is that what that fight was about? The one in front of Dauntless?” I demand. He nods. “Has this been your plan all along?”

“No, I had to do something to keep your ass out of trouble after you shattered Peter’s face,” Eric retorts impatiently. He tightens his grip on my hand when I attempt to break the contact. “I took what you said to Max and Leah and I made them think that you did it because you were brave and strong and ruthless, just like a leader needs to be at the moment.”

“And the fight when I almost killed him proved that,” I finish coldly. Eric nods. “I did not like myself after that happened, Eric,” I protest. I gulp and avert my gaze from his. “It made me afraid of what I might be capable of.”

Gentle, calloused fingers take my chin and guide my face upwards until my eyes find steely blue-grey. “You are capable of anything you need to be,” he says confidently, voice soft. He believes what he is saying. He believes in me. “You’re a survivor, princess, just like me.”

“If I turn this down, after everything I have done, will there be repercussions?” I question cautiously. He only nods. I gulp and bite the inside of my cheek. “Alright, tell the others that I am interested, if they are still willing to have me,” I relent.

He relaxes and takes me into his arms, folding me easily against his broad chest. “You won’t regret this, princess,” he whispers gruffly into my ear.

 _Yes, you will_ , a little voice inside of me hisses.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of planning behind the scenes, city at war, and revenge is sought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character deaths.  
> So, this is it. Last chapter. Hope you like it!

Gunshots jerk me awake. There are gunshots, many of them, and they wrench my out of sleep sharply. My body shoots into a sitting position, breathing fast, and my hand darts out in search for the body I know was beside me when I went to sleep. He is not there. My eyes dart down to the bed, but he is not there. The sheets are cold. He left a while ago. Dread pools in my stomach. Last night, he pulled a promise from me to stay in his apartment no matter what and then he – he was unbelievably gentle when we were intimate. He has been gentle before, but not like that. He treated me as though I were made of spun glass and, looking back on it, it felt too much like goodbye. Why would he say goodbye? Why did he insist on me staying here until he came for me? Why are there gunshots?

The covers are flung back and I stand, but someone else stands too. A guard – an unfamiliar one, but young, not much older than me – stands at the breakfast bar with an uncertain expression on his face. He is tall and built a little like Eric, but is slightly slimmer with hands and feet that look too big for his body. His skin is tanned, almost like an Amity’s, and his hair is shaggy and floppy and a dark blonde. He has the air of an overgrown puppy. I do not know him. I do not like him. I do not want him here. I do not trust him. Why is he here? Who is he? Where is Eric? What is going on? Why am I here? Why is Eric protecting me? Why am I not with him? Perhaps this overgrown puppy has the answers.

More gunshots yank my eyes to the window. My bare feet move of their own accord. They take me to the doors that lead out onto Eric’s balcony. From here, I can see across the city. I see the broken buildings. I see the gleaming spire of Erudite. I see the fence. I see the train of black clad bodies marching into Abnegation, where grey ants scurry helplessly before them. My breath catches in my throat. The grey ants fall. The black clad bodies stay standing tall and continue marching onwards. Horror thrums through my veins and I take a step back from the window. Is this what Eric did not want me to be a part of? What is happening? My eyes snap to the overgrown puppy, who gulps and straightens, hands flexing around his gun.

“Who are you?” I ask icily.

“Seth, ma’am,” he answers. “Eric asked me to watch you in case you didn’t follow orders.”

My eyebrows shoot up and Seth’s cheeks colour. “And what will you do if I choose to leave?” I demand sharply. My eyes flicker to his gun. “Will you shoot me?”

“No, ma’am!” he protests immediately and lets go of his gun. He looks horrified at the thought. “I’d never shoot you,” he assures, green eyes wide. “I would have to restrain you.”

I snort and go to the closet. He is no longer important. If Eric chose him to watch me, he is capable, despite how fumbling he seems at the moment. He probably can restrain me. So, for the moment, I get some clean clothes and make my way to the bathroom for a shower. At least I pulled on Eric’s shirt to sleep in last night, or perhaps it was when I woke in the middle of the night to go the bathroom. It still smells like him. My smell has yet to permeate the fabric and steal the smell away. I can still detect the odour of smoke, gunpowder, and sweat. It is almost a comfort, but, today, I feel…unsettled. I should be happy. I am officially a member of Dauntless. Eric has said they want me for leadership. Today is supposed to be the first day of the rest of my life and, instead, I feel unsteady and almost fearful. I do not know what is going on and there is no one with proper answers.

The hot water chases away my thoughts for the moment. It cascades over my naked body and washes away the evidence of last night. Memories of it flash through my mind. He did not mark me last night. He usually sucks marks into my skin wherever he feels like it, but, last night, he did not. His large hands were so careful with me. His mouth was soft. His pace was slow, almost tender. He did seem to need to go hard and rough like he normally does. He took his time and breathed my name against my lips when he came, which was only after I felt boneless and was a quivering, panting mass beneath him. Afterwards, he cradled me against him and ran his fingers through my hair until I fell asleep, which did not take long. When I woke to use the bathroom a few hours later, it had taken me time to detangle myself from him without waking him, but he did wake in my absence and was about to get out of bed when I returned.

“Where did you go?” he had snapped, scowling at me, eyes burning coldly.

“The bathroom,” I had answered honestly and slipped back into bed, the sheets still warm. “Where else would I be?” I had asked sleepily as his arms had wrapped around me once more.

“I don’t know,” he had mumbled into my hair. “I don’t know.”

“Go back to sleep,” I had urged softly, already half asleep myself. “I will be here when you wake up.”

And I was, but he was not there when I woke. It disturbs me more than it should. I am already used to waking to him there beside me, or just in the shower, or cooking breakfast. He makes really good bacon sandwiches with just the right amount of butter and ketchup. It unsettles me more than I thought it would that our routine will not be happening today. Dauntless are invading Abnegation. I have little to no doubt that this is due to Jeanine Matthews’s hunt for Divergents. Abnegation rule. Perhaps they are standing in the way of her hunt and she needs them out of the way, which means she would need an army and Dauntless was there, ripe for the taking. The only issue is that not everyone would willingly march into Abnegation to slaughter people, no matter the orders of the leaders.

The thoughts swirling around my head are only making it hurt. I step out of the shower, switching it off, and begin to dry myself off. My new hairdryer is, unfortunately, out in the main area, so I just dry my flesh, brush my teeth, and get dressed. A towel is rubbed over my long, dripping hair as I make my way to the hairdryer and ignore Seth. He is sat awkwardly at the breakfast bar. I am too anxious to eat. I flash him an uninterested look and plug in my hairdryer. I grab my hairbrush from the dresser in the bedroom area and begin drying my long hair. It will take time. The noise blocks out the gunshots still popping in Abnegation. I keep my eyes on my reflection. I still have bruises on my face from my fight with Peter. My ice queen tattoo is bright and blue against my pale skin, shown off in my black tank top.

My hair is dry, but in its natural, wavy state when the door is abruptly thrown open and I lunge for the gun hidden at the side of my dresser. “WHOA!” a familiar voice shouts as I swing, gun aimed, and Seth does the same. Nate stands in front of us, eyes wide and his hair a wild mass of curls. “Boss, come on,” he pants and runs at me fearlessly. He grabs my arm. Fear pulses through me. “He needs you, please,” he begs and my stomach drops.

My feet are bare and they sting as we race through the compound with Seth at our heels. We run as fast as we can. Nate leads me, his hand wrapped around my forearm almost too tightly, and fear thrums through me so strongly. I barely notice that the compound is empty. The fear is too strong. It clogs in my throat and makes my body begin to numb in preparation. It is the only way it knows how to deal with this kind of pain and I am not wholly certain that I can live through it again. I can feel myself shutting down emotionally, even as I push my body faster and Nate drags me into a waiting car. The woman behind the wheel is the one from Nate’s birthday celebrations. I cannot remember her name. She just throws the truck into gear the second that we are inside. I am squashed against Nate’s side with Seth sat too close to me. Nate just holds my arm with an almost bruising grip.

We do not speak. The woman just drives through the city. It is too quiet. It takes too long. My fear only grows when we stop in front of the hospital. Nate drags me out of the car and we run inside. He leads the way and my body follows, helpless to do anything else. People turn to look at us. There are Dauntless and Erudite only here. There are no Amity nurses or Abnegation volunteers. What is going on? I do not understand. I need Eric. The mere thought of his name has my blood turning to ice and my heart straining against its delicate thread. _Please_. My breathing comes in short, sharp, rapid spurts and we burst onto a floor full of Dauntless that raise their weapons at our sudden appearance, but swiftly lower them when they recognise us.

“This way, Justice,” Max’s deep voice intones. Nate releases me and I follow Max, fear forming a lump in throat that is hard to breathe around. “He’s alright,” Max tells me and opens a door.

Eric, scowling and whole and alive, sits on a bed with no pants on while a frowning, Erudite woman with brown hair pulled back into a severe bun stitches up his lower thigh. Relief floods me. A breath comes rushing out of me in a grateful gush and my arms are wrapping tightly around his neck before I can comprehend even moving. A surprised grunt leaves him, but he sighs and puts his arm around my waist. I press my face into his neck and cling to him tightly, careful not to touch his injured leg. Tears prickle behind my eyes and it feels as though this giant weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I feel like I can breathe for the first time since Nate crashed into the apartment and dragged me out.

“I thought something terrible had happened to you,” I gasp.

“I’ve been shot, princess,” Eric points out dryly. My arms tighten around his neck and anger bubbles in my stomach. Who? I want to know who shot him. “But, I’ll live,” he states and his lips touch the side of my head.

“What happened?” I demand and lift my head to look at him. “Who did this?”

Eric pauses, eyes flickering thoughtfully over my face, and his hand lands on my cheek. “I’ll explain everything, princess,” he promises and leans forwards to press his lips to my other cheekbone.

“I need to administer a painkiller,” the brunette woman announces, voice clipped, as she removes her bloody, latex gloves and stands. There is something familiar in her sharp, unrelenting tone. She is tall with a strong jaw more suited to a man than a woman and there is a cold intelligence to her grey eyes behind her square, unforgiving glasses. “Give me your arm, Eric,” she commands and picks up a syringe, other hand held out expectantly.

“Give me my pants back,” Eric scowls. I look around and see the black pants folded up neatly on the nightstand beside the bed. “I don’t want a painkiller – I’ve got shit to do,” he snaps and begins to stand. He hisses at the pressure on his leg.

“At least get something to take away with you,” I frown disapprovingly. His hand clamps down on my shoulder and he leans on me. He is heavy. “Please, Eric,” I implore. He just flashes me an angry look and limps around me to get his pants. “Give us a moment,” I direct at the woman. She looks insulted. I do not particularly care. “Out,” I snap and watch her wisely march out of the door. Max follows her with a nod thrown my way and he shuts the door behind him. “Will you let me help you?” I ask Eric blandly, voice quiet, and watch his back tense, encased in a black t-shirt that hugs his thick muscles.

“I don’t need –”

“I know,” I interrupt softly and lay a hand over his on his pants. “You could manage alone, but let me help you,” I murmur and tilt my head back to look up at him. “I do not want to see you hurt yourself any further through something that could have easily been helped,” I explain and he lets me take the pants.

Silently, he sits back down on the bed and I kneel in front of him. It is not the first time we have been in this position, but the circumstances are drastically different. I carefully ease his feet into the legs and begin sliding them up his long legs. We stand at the same time to ease them over his injured thigh. His hand closes down on my shoulder once more, his jaw tight, and there is already blood spotting the bandage around his thick thigh. There is a ragged hole in his pants at the point where he got shot. My jaw tightens at the sight of it and anger bubbles in my stomach. I ignore it for the moment and button his pants up neatly, before buckling his belt smoothly and straightening his shirt back over the waistband of his pants. He smells like gunpowder and blood and medicine. I would need to press closer to find the smell of _him_ that settles me so.

“My shoes,” Eric grits out and jerks his chin at something behind me. I turn my head and notice his boots – bloodstained, I see with a lurch of my stomach – sat beside the door that leads to the small bathroom. I carefully disengage myself from his grip and watch a muscle in his jaw jump, his eyes tightening at the corners and his teeth grinding together. He grabs the bed to stay upright. “Fuck,” he hisses and slowly sits back down, stretching his injured leg out in front of him. I put the boot on that foot first. I tightly lace it up, like I have seen him do, and then do the same with the other shoe. “Thanks, princess,” he mutters reluctantly.

My eyes flicker up to him and I stand. “Do not get shot again,” I say simply and lay a hand on his cheek. “That is my only condition.”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Alright, princess, I think I can manage that,” he agrees with a nod. “Can you go and grab the bitch and get her to give me some painkillers for the road? Fuck if I’m staying here the night.”

“Okay,” I agree. “Are we going home?”

“We can’t,” Eric answers sharply. Something cold settles in my blood. “Some Dauntless defected after what happened in Abnegation,” he sighs heavily and rubs a hand down his face, dislodging my hand from his stubbly cheek. “The traitors could be there and we think it’s smarter to stay away for now, to regroup at Erudite.”

“What happened?” I question carefully. “Why did you keep me away from it?”

“I can’t tell you,” Eric retorts gruffly, avoiding my eye. I grasp his face in my hands and pull him around to meet my gaze, frowning at him. We are just about the same height when he sits. I am slightly taller than he is at the moment. My hands are gentle on his face and my thumb strokes the skin beneath one of his eyes. I can see the pain he tries to hide. I can see the shame he almost smothers. “Princess, we’ve done something that we can’t come back from,” he admits gruffly and sighs heavily. His hand covers mine and encases it completely. “Jeanine made a serum that we put inside of everyone instead of that tracker,” he says quietly and shock ripples through me.

“I – I did not see the lie,” I mumble, frowning slightly. “You lied to me.”

“Princess,” Eric says and it almost sounds like he is pleading with me. His eyes meet mine and I see the truth there this time. “I had to,” he says fiercely and grabs my face in his hands when I remove my own from his stubbly cheeks.

“How? No one has ever lied to me successfully,” I frown at him.

“I studied you, gave you little lies until I noticed the ticks you did, and you trust me, princess,” he answers honestly. Hurt flickers through me. “I _wanted_ you to see it,” he insists. “You just looked straight past it because you wanted that to be the truth.”

“This serum – what did it do?” I demand. “What did it have to do with Abnegation?”

“The serum was a simulation that changed the way everyone saw the world, but it didn’t work on Divergents, didn’t work on Tris or on Four,” he spits the names. “We gave orders and we invaded Abnegation to find the Divergents and eliminate the traitors,” he explains and pulls me closer, eyes blazing. “Jeanine changed those orders and had our soldiers kill the Abnegation, every single one of them, every man, woman, and child that they could find.”

“ _Children_?” I whisper hoarsely, horrified. Nausea swoops through my stomach and a shaky hand flies to my mouth. “You suspected she would,” I say tremulously. “It is why you kept me away.”

“I didn’t know for sure, but I didn’t want you put under her control, princess, not when I wasn’t sure what she’d do with you,” Eric scowls. My whole body shakes and one of his large hands slides down my side to grip my waist. The other hand still holds my cheek and his eyes are still locked on my own. “She wants to use you, princess, but I managed to persuade her to leave you out of the Abnegation attack.”

“The Erudite are using us, Eric,” I whisper, looking around warily. The walls have ears everywhere. “Jeanine is using us.”

“I know, but she’s right,” he sighs. “The Divergent are a danger to our society and there’s no changing that, even if you don’t like Jeanine.”

I hesitate and then straighten my spine, steel my resolve, and nod. “Tell me everything.”

And he does. He tells me about the Divergents he has been hunting since joining Dauntless, which he was going to do anyway, but Jeanine Matthews approached him and gave him this mission. He tells me about the deaths he has caused and the Divergents he has given to Jeanine for testing. He tells me about how, for a little while, Jeanine believed me to be a Divergent because I was doing well in Dauntless, despite having Candor as a result on my Aptitude Test. He tells me how he argued against it and she was only satisfied after watching my fear simulations. He tells me about giving me an injection to keep me asleep when he woke this morning and how he told Seth – a fresh recruit under Damien’s tutelage – to watch over me and ensure I did not leave the apartment unless Eric, Nate, or one of the leaders came for me. He tells me how he went to Abnegation and was going to shoot Four, but Tris shot him instead.

“ _Tris_?” I interrupt and anger rips through my tone before I can control it. “She and Four are Divergents – they are a danger to our system,” I state icily. “Where are they now?”

“I don’t know,” Eric bites out. “Jeanine took Four back to the Dauntless compound and Tris was going to be executed, but her _mother_ shot our guys and escaped with her.”

“Her Abnegation mother?” I sneer in disgust. “I trust that if those idiots were not already dead, they would be by now.”

Eric smirks and nods. “The mother died, but Tris managed to break into Dauntless and get Four and shut down the simulation, before she escaped with her brother and Peter.”

“ _Peter_?” I echo indignantly. “ _Peter Hayes_? He hates Tris and he would never willingly side with her, unless he is also Divergent.”

“No, she shot him and he joined them after betraying us,” Eric scowls. My lips press together into a thin, disapproving line. “I sent Nate to get you once I was sure the compound was more or less clear.”

“And we have no idea where they are?” I press. Eric shakes his head and I sigh. “We will find them, Eric, and we will fix the mess that Abnegation made of things by overlooking the Divergent problem.”

He kisses me, fierce and grateful, and his hands sink into my hair. I lean into him gratefully and break away from his lips to rest my forehead against his. For a moment, we are silent and just exchange air. He is still in pain. His breath puffs against my lips and is slightly staggered. I kiss his forehead and go to find the doctor for some painkillers. She stares at me as though I am some sort of interesting specimen beneath her microscope, but she nods and goes in to administer the painkiller. It is only after that I notice Jeanine Matthews speaking to Max and the other three leaders. She looks a little rumpled and wears a bandage on her right hand that has blood seeping onto it. Her eyes meet mine and her lips thin. She does not like me. I do not particularly care. I just turn and go back into Eric’s room to watch over him while he sleeps, paranoid in case someone comes back again.

The doctor is still there as Eric drifts off and pulls me onto the bed beside him. “I’ve never known him to act like this with anyone,” she states quietly. I do not look at her, but I do tense. My head is rested on Eric’s broad chest and my arm is over his waist. “He was never turned by a pretty face – ruthless mind, maybe, but never a pretty face for more than a few hours at the most,” she says in a low tone. “He trusts you and my brother has never trusted easily.”

“You are his sister,” I murmur and see her nod from the corner of my eye. “I do not like you.”

“Look after him,” she requests. I do not look at her. I cannot. “He thinks he’s so strong and he is, but he can’t shoulder this alone.”

“He will not have to,” I murmur and close my eyes. “I will not let him.”

Without a word, Eric’s sister leaves us alone and keep my eyes closed as the reality sinks into my bones like lead. We are at war. One of the people I thought could possibly be my friend has betrayed our faction with our trainer and a boy I despise. People are dead. Abnegation have been slaughtered at the command of Jeanine Matthews, who controlled our people. I was only spared because of the man sleeping heavily beneath me. I was spared because, somehow, we became tangled in one another. If one of us pulls away, we both lose pieces of ourselves. Perhaps I will lose more than he does, but we still lose chunks of ourselves to the other. I know that. I wonder if he does. Perhaps it is why he keeps me close. Perhaps it is why he protects me. Perhaps he actually cares. I hope he does. I should not hope he does so desperately.

 

* * *

 

My induction into leadership is hurried and hasty and, now, I am currently sparring with Seth and Nate. We are using blunted knives too. Eric wants me lethal instead of just dangerous. I have my own squad of seasoned Dauntless. They obey me because they saw what I did to Peter. These people volunteered to follow me when Max and Damien announced my leadership. They are mostly men with a few women here and there, but I get the feeling Eric might have requested that they offer their services to me. Seth and Nate were the first volunteers after all. Now, I am fighting them and they are my right and left hand. Eric suggested that. He has no one at his side, but when I brought it up, he only kissed me with a smirk and limped off to another meeting with Jeanine.

Seth chokes as he lands on his back on the mat and I throw Nate into him, aiming my plastic gun at the pair of them. On the side lines, the others in my group holler and cheer their approval. I roll my eyes and holster the gun as I walk away, wiping the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. A girl named Evie, not much older than myself, hands me a towel with a slight nod and wariness shines in her blue eyes. I murmur my thanks distractedly and wipe away my sweat. My fingers curl around a water bottle and I glug the liquid down gratefully. It is cool and washes away the taste of metallic blood from my mouth. Seth got in a few good shots and so did Nate, though Nate seemed to aim for the body rather than the face. Seth just threw punches wherever he could get them in.

“Miss Stephenson, you’re due for a meeting in half an hour.”

My teeth grind together at that irritating voice. It belongs to a woman named Diane that tracks my every move and keeps me updated on my schedule. She also insists on attempting to make me look ‘presentable’ to Erudite standards. I will shower, but only because I am sticky with sweat and feel disgusting. I will not, however, wear that pencil skirt and blouse that Diane keeps attempting to force on me. I do like the heels, but not the confining clothing. I choose the most Dauntless clothes I have in my current wardrobe just to irritate her. She thinks she hides it, but I see it. I am searching for everything now that Eric has managed to lie to me. I slipped. I will not allow that to happen again. No one will get past my ability to sniff out a lie ever again. I cannot afford to allow it to happen nowadays. Not with how delicate our current situation is with the Divergent and their cohorts still out there. They have to be caught and, hopefully, this meeting will give us an actual plan.

We step into the large, spacious, light apartment I am currently sharing with Eric with Nate usually sleeping on our couch. The couch that Eric is currently sprawled across, snoring softly, with his tablet laid on his broad chest. The painkillers make him sleepy. I absently take the tablet from his chest and set it on the table after ensuring there are no urgent messages, which there is not. He does not even twitch, even when I brush his hair out of his eyes on my way to the bathroom. Diane perches herself on a chair in the airy kitchen and goes through my tablet. She will tell me when there is something providing my immediate attention. I shut the bathroom door on her and strip off to step into the shower. The water is warm and sluices away the sweat and blood from my vigorous training.

Bruises throb on my ribcage and stomach. There is a slight bruise on the side of my face where Seth’s fist glanced off my cheek. The men are far worse, though. Eric has crafted me into the ruthless leader I have to be by barking instructions at me from the side lines. He claims I already have the bare basics and I just need to build on it. When he is healed, he will help more. I am not entirely looking forward to it. I have a feeling that I will have more bruises and more grazes and split open flesh. He will not be careful with me. He very rarely is. He can be, but it is not in his nature, just as it is not in mine. I lost any softness I might have possessed long ago. If there was any left after Dean’s death, Dauntless stole it from me. It is not necessary at the moment. I do not know if I can ever reclaim it.

Any notions of softness and mercy and gentleness are brushed aside as I switch off the shower and step out of it. I pause at the sight of Eric washing his face in the sink. He does not look up as I wrap myself in a towel and then rub another over my hair. He is shirtless. Some water slips down his neck and to his broad chest. It damps his curling chest hair. He swipes at it agitatedly and his eyes meet mine in the mirror. I pad up silently behind him on tiptoes and kiss his jaw softly in greeting, before wordlessly leaving the bathroom to go to our room and dress. I am unsurprised to see Nate and Seth nursing their bruised egos in the sitting room. I also have little doubt that they were the ones to wake Eric.

“Hey, boss,” Nate greets cheerily with a wave, while Seth blushes and looks away hastily. “Can I paint your nails?”

“No,” I snap. He whines and follows me into the bedroom. I glare at him impatiently and then fix my glower on the black dress laid on the bed. I actually like it, much to my irritation. It looks structured and sharp and flattering at the same time. She is learning my ways. “Nate, out,” I command, but he is too busy rifling through the cosmetics Diane had delivered to me.

“I’m going with _red_!” he declares, but the usual spark is lacking. He is afraid of what our world is becoming in the light of everything. “So our enemies think you’ve been driving your nails in to draw blood,” he teases and I sigh.

“You have five minutes _after_ I am dressed,” I relent. He beams at me and kisses my cheek, before he flops onto the bed. He avoids my dress as I wriggle my panties on beneath the towel and then drop it to put on my bra, my back to him. “What is really going on?” I ask as I turn and pick up my dress, easily stepping into it.

Nate sighs and zips it up for me. “Nothing, boss,” he smiles. I meet his gaze in the full-length mirror and adjust the dress. It hugs me generously and has a square neckline. “I’m worried about you,” he admits quietly. Surprise flickers through me and my hands pause in smoothing the hem of my dress just above my knees. “About what being a leader will do to you, especially with what’s going on,” he whispers. I gulp. “I don’t want you to become –”

“She’ll be fine,” Eric’s voice snaps abruptly.

We jerk in shock and turn hastily to see him glowering at us from the doorway of the bedroom. He strides in stiffly, snags the back of Nate’s shirt, and tosses him from the room. I do not stop him. He has been grouchy since being shot since he has been told to keep physical activity to a minimum. Physical activity includes sex and I am enforcing it to ensure he does not injure himself further and is out of commission longer. If I protest, he will snap and we will end up in argument we have no time for. Instead, I just sit at the vanity to begin drying my hair with the brush Diane thrust at me after I demanded a hairdryer. The brush dries my hair as I run it through my hair. It is much quieter and far more efficient than a hairdryer. I have already informed Eric that we are taking them back to Dauntless. He seemed amused.

“Why’s Nate always with you?” Eric scowls at me.

“Because he is my right hand, as _you_ ordered him to be,” I answer patiently and carefully brush my long hair out. My back twinges at the movement. My new leader tattoos are still sore from a few days ago. They go down either side of my spine, matching the blocks on Eric’s and Max’s necks. Perhaps I should have held off on training for a little while longer. I ignore the pain in favour of turning my head to meet Eric’s angry, steely eyes. “And he is your friend,” I add quietly. Eric snorts and rifles through the dresser in search for a shirt to cover his bare chest. “He is, even if you do not want to admit it.”

“He’s an idiot,” Eric snaps.

“An idiot that knows how to fight,” I point out mildly and run the brush through the back of my hair. “My hair is drying wavy,” I mutter darkly and glare at the thick locks. “And Diane has yet to bring me some straighteners.”

“Just put it up, princess,” Eric retorts impatiently and yanks on a t-shirt. I am almost disappointed to see his sculpted muscle disappear beneath the soft fabric. He is not the only one to go without for nearly two weeks, after all. “And he can’t fight when it’s necessary, when he _has_ to hurt people,” he adds scathingly.

“We shall see,” I say simply and pull the brush through the final sections of my hair. “Your hair needs cutting.”

“I know,” he bites out. “You can do it later – I don’t trust these Erudite bastards.”

“You were Erudite,” I say with a slight smile. He glowers at me and comes to stand behind me. “How is your leg?”

“Fine,” he scowls. His hands come down on my shoulders. His thumb strokes against the top of my leader tattoos at the nape of my neck. “Got the stitches taken out today.”

“I know,” I reply and finish drying my hair. I switch off the brush and pick up a tie to bind it back with. “I was going to go with you, but Diane said you asked me not to.”

“I don’t need you holding my goddamn hand,” he snaps. I raise my eyebrows at him slightly, but stay silent and begin pulling my hair back into a high ponytail. “No,” he frowns and shakes his head. “Show off the tattoos,” he commands and pushes my hair over my shoulder. “Let everyone see how far you’ve climbed in such short time.”

I hesitate, but obey. I have only come this far because he keeps pushing me forwards. I never asked for this, yet I have it. He thrust it into my hands and commanded me to have it. I was left with no choice, lest I had to face the consequences. The consequences would be dire. I have no doubt about that. Not even Eric would have been able to save me. He might have even been at the forefront to hand out my punishment. He wants me to be the person he has decided I must be. He wants this ice cold princess that can rule Dauntless in the toughest of times without flinching. I am struggling to be that person. It is difficult. I was not made for Dauntless. I find it difficult to be the person they want me to be. The person Eric needs me to be. I did not ask for this. I do not want it. According to Abnegation, it makes me perfect to rule.

“Is this better?” I ask when I have braided my hair over my shoulder. It hangs down just past my breasts. I glance up at Eric and he nods. His fingers touch the still tender tattoos and a shiver slips down my spine. Oh god. I miss him. I miss being with him. I stand and dislodge his fingers. “Eric,” I say it on a sigh and his eyes are dark with want. “We need to go.”

“I know,” he grumbles irritably, scowling, and his fingers brush against the bottom of my braid. “Let’s go, princess.”

I step into my black stilettos and feel his hand come down onto my waist when I sway slightly. He steadies me as I straighten and my hand lands on his broad shoulder. My fingers squeeze the muscle gently and he guides me from the room with his hand still on my waist. His touch burns. It always has and I think it always will. My eyes skim over his jaw, over his necks and the blocky tattoos inked there. Those tattoos match the ones he wants me to display and I am displaying. He has yet to shave today. His jaw is covered in stubble that stretches down his neck. It would be rough if I ran my fingers over it. My fingers tingle with the want to do just that. I want his flesh beneath my touch and his lips against mine and his body joined with my own. I want him. I am frustrated with the kisses that lead nowhere because of his injury. He barely even limps now.

“You look good,” Eric says quietly, voice rough. I glance up at him and his hand slips down to my hip, curving around it smoothly, to squeeze gently. “You look ready for battle,” he teases with a nod down to my shoes.

“Stilettos are dangerous weapons,” I retort with a slight smirk. He snorts softly with amusement. “Would you want to be stabbed with these?”

“Where can you hide guns in that?” Eric asks instead of answering my question.

I step in front of him and loop my arms around his neck, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. “You would be surprised,” I whisper teasingly. I feel playful with the hope that we can finally be intimate again. His eyes dance and his hands curve around my hips, fingers splaying over my bum. “Would you like to search me?” I murmur into his ear and gasp when my back is slammed against a wall, fingers clenching down on the back of his collar. “I think that is brutality,” I say breathlessly and moan softly when his lips crash onto mine hungrily.

“You’ll get brutal, princess,” he retorts gruffly, before smothering my lips with his own in a harsh, possessive kiss.

Someone clears their throat and Eric hisses a string expletives as his head snaps to the side and his eyes narrow. “We’re going to be late,” Damien’s voice laughs. “Let’s go, lovebirds, you can fuck each other’s brains out later.”

“Fucking piece of fucking shit,” Eric snarls, but releases me. He even tugs my skirt down. I did not even realise he had hiked it up. “Been fucking weeks,” he mutters darkly with a hateful glare thrown down at Damien. I do not miss how Eric strategically positions me in front of his crotch. His erection presses against my lower back. “Don’t move, princess,” he whispers in my ear, arm curving around my waist.

“Come on,” I sigh and lead the way down the shiny white corridor. “Why is everything so shiny here?”

“They like being the best,” Eric says dryly with a sneer. “That means everything has to be shiny.”

“I do not like it shiny,” I mutter. He laughs lowly and his lips brush over the side of my head. “I want to go home.”

“We will,” he promises. “As soon as this is over, we’ll go home.”

A small smile curves my lips, but it is wiped away as we step into the meeting room and Jeanine glares icily at us. She does not like me. She believes I am a distraction and am not fit to lead. She thinks Eric should have higher standards. I meet her gaze, unimpressed, and sink into a seat without her permission. It only serves to irritate her. Her lips thin and her grey eyes flash behind her rectangular shaped glasses. I merely cross my legs and flick my eyes up to Eric when his hand lands on my thigh. His thumb rubs over the flesh, even as his eyes fix on Jeanine and he gives some bland comment about how well his leg is doing. He will never admit that it hurts. He will never admit that he woke me the one night last week because he was shaking with pain and could barely move without pain roaring through his leg. I had had to administer a painkiller without really knowing what I was doing. I had been terrified of overdosing him, not that that I told him that. Leaders of Dauntless do not get to feel fear.

The meeting begins in typical, boring fashion. I mostly zone out the words and use my Candor heritage to observe their body language. Jeanine is tense, but eager to go ahead with plans to invade Amity. She thinks the fugitives are hiding out there and, of course, she wants Eric to lead it. Even better, she wants me to sit behind like a good little girl and wait for the big, strong men to come back from fighting the battles for us. I will not. I have a personal score to settle with Tris Prior after all. My eyes flicker to Eric’s leg. No one shoots Eric and gives me that fear of losing him, especially not some silly little mouse from Abnegation. My hands curl into fists at the mere thought. She may have been my almost friend, but that only wins her a quick, mostly painless death.

“I will go to Amity,” I interrupt Jeanine lazily. Eric coughs. Max looks vaguely pained. The other leaders look at me with mild amusement. “I will not lend you half of my squad for a mission I will not be present for,” I state without listening to Jeanine’s cold retort. I really do not care. “Besides, Ms Matthews, if you are lucky, you might just get what you want and I might get shot,” I point out coolly and watch her face tighten as she leans back, eyes flashing.

“Now, Miss Stephenson –”

“Do not insult me by lying,” I cut over her again carelessly and wave a hand dismissively. “I grew up in Candor, after all, and I know all the signs.”

“If you think I want you to die, why go into a possibly fatal situation?” Jeanine snaps impatiently and my eyes finally meet hers properly. She seems unsettled by what she sees there.

“I do not trust you, Ms Matthews, and would rather face gunfire than sit here with you, like a _coward_ ,” I say softly and watch insult flare through her, anger and hatred filling her eyes.

“Justice,” Max snaps. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, sir,” I murmur and lean back in my seat. “I shall endeavour to keep my mouth shut, as Ms Matthews believes I should.”

Max winces. Eric glares at me warningly. The others stare at me like I have grown another head. If only Leah had not been shot and killed by Tris’ father, I would not have to be here. Tris has many things to answer for, as does her brother, but, strangely, Jeanine is not as focused on her own faction traitor as she is on ours. It is curious. My eyes find her again. She is still agitated with my rudeness. I just listen to her list everything that is wrong with Divergents for what feels like the thousandth time. Every single time I speak with her, it is the same thing. She is obsessed. She has Eric searching Abnegation for something. Not that I know what it is. All that I know is that it was left by the Founders of our city and she wants it. Why does she want it? Why is it so important? What does she think is inside it?

“As soon as you find the box, you will go to Amity,” Jeanine decides.

“Actually, we will be heading to Amity tomorrow morning,” I correct smoothly. Eric drops his face into his palms and lets out a long, slow breath. Max just stares at the ceiling. The other two’s mouths drop open in shock. “They will not stay there long and, if they are there, I want to intercept them before they decide to leave, so Amity happens in the morning, whether we find your box or not,” I state with a challenging look sent the blonde woman’s way. “Anything else? Or shall we continue talking in circles about the same thing over and over again?”

“Princess,” Eric snarls and I look at him questioningly, raising an eyebrow. “We aren’t going to Amity in the morning.”

“Oh no, _we_ are not,” I agree. “ _I_ am with _my_ squad, because you probably should rest your leg up since you got shot,” I nod and stand. I kiss the top of his head. “I shall talk to you later.”

“What the fuck just happened?” Damien splutters as I leave the office and am unsurprised when Nate and Seth flank me.

“Prepare the snipers – we leave for Amity at sundown,” I order in a low voice and watch their eyes widen, but Seth strides away obediently.

In my short amount of time as leader, I have hastily crafted together a squad of snipers that almost match my skill. It is only consisted of a few people from my squad of twenty. They are the ones that Nate told me I could trust and I trust Nate. He actually wants to be my friend. He worries about me and supports me. He is my friend. I am glad that he is the one that stays at my side while Seth goes to hand out my orders. I only keep Seth as my left hand because he witnessed my fear at Eric’s injury. I have to keep him close to prevent him from telling anyone my weaknesses. It is a tactic that Eric taught me. Eric’s tactics tend to work. He is cruel and harsh and always locks onto the weakest parts of people. He can easily cut through any shields and destroy them without much effort and usually with utter glee.

“Seth,” I call before he is out of sight. He turns and looks at me. “Remember that you are Dauntless and we do not answer to Jeanine Matthews.”

A grin fills his face and he nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Go,” I order and wave him away. “Nate, we need to prepare the weapons.”

“Boss, sometimes, I both love you and am terrified of you,” Nate says slowly and I meet his gaze. He is grinning and I touch his arm with my fingertips. “Just – just be careful going up against Jeanine, boss.”

“I have you at my side, Nate,” I state. “I trust you.”

Nate grins like I have just handed him a bucketful of gold. I roll my eyes and stride on ahead. My heels click against the ground. He jogs to catch up with me and we make our way to the fancy armoury. Jeanine has yet to revoke my privileges. My key card still works and I smoothly walk in and begin collecting rifles. I wonder how long it will be before my privileges are revoked. Probably as soon as she leaves her meeting, which should be any minute, so we leave the armoury with arms filled with rifles and guns and knives and ammo. I am not going to Amity unprotected with the fugitives there. They might have weapons themselves, but a part of me doubts it. Still, I would not risk their lives on assumptions and guesses.

 

* * *

 

My dress is left carelessly on the ground of the bedroom Eric and I share. It is changed for a pair of structured, sturdy pants that hug my legs and a long sleeved, V-neck shirt that has a blue ring edging each of the sleeves and is supposed to be insulated to keep the warmth in. I still pull on my newly issued jacket over the top. My nose wrinkles at the Erudite blue piped through the seams and the eye plastered over my left bicep. Strong, leather boots replace my stilettos and my hair is slicked back into its usual, sleek ponytail. With that, I finally feel battle ready. I am nervous. This is my first, proper battle and I am leading it. What right have I to lead people into a fight? None, yet here I am and they are trusting me to keep them alive. That kind of trust is something I am not entirely sure I can handle.

The door opens behind me. It is Eric. My skin tingles in acknowledgement of him. I turn my head and meet his gaze. His eyes are cold and hard, but there is underlying pride there. He might not have agreed with the way I spoke to Jeanine, but he is proud that I am unafraid of the robotic blonde. Suspicion follows when he takes in my attire. I do not attempt to lie to him. I simply stride towards the door and pause, hand touching his shoulder lightly, to kiss him softly. His hands curve around my waist and the kiss suddenly feels like a goodbye. It cannot be goodbye. I am doing this so that we can get home and we can get on with our lives and not live at the behest of Jeanine Matthews. I am doing this for us, so I never have to live with the pain of seeing him being shot again.

“I will not be long,” I say simply and let my hand linger on his stubbly cheek. “I will see you soon,” I murmur with a final kiss against his lips.

His fingers bite into my waist and he pushes his mouth firmer against my own. “Don’t, princess,” he growls against my mouth. I pull back and lower my gaze. “Whatever you’re planning to go against Jeanine, _don’t_ , just stay here,” he almost commands it. Almost. I hear the words he does not say. _With_ _me_ hangs heavy in the air, unspoken and burdensome.

“I will not be long,” I repeat firmly and lift my eyes back to his. Something like desperation gleams in those blue-grey depths. My thumb strokes over his cheekbone. His eyes flutter closed. “I have to do this,” I say softly and step past him and out of the room.

“Do what, princess? Where are you going?” Eric demands roughly, voice quiet. I stop as Nate rises, ready to follow me out. He refuses to look at his closest friend. “Are you coming back in a body bag?” Eric snaps.

“I do not plan on it, no,” I answer and shake my head. I do not look at him. “I will come back and we will go home.”

“Nate, get out,” Eric orders. I sigh and watch Nate hesitate, but obey, as he always does and always will. A strong hand curves around my hip and turns me. His face is drawn into a frown and his lips are pressed into a thin, disapproving line. “What is with you and this fascination with home, princess?” he snaps. He sighs and places a hand on my cheek.

“Because, it has been so long since I had one,” I answer honestly. “I do not feel safe in Erudite – I feel as though Jeanine has eyes on us constantly, as though I can never relax,” I explain. “I felt safe in Dauntless, in your apartment, _with_ you, because it was something steady and safe.”

“I told you, I’m not –”

“You are many things, Eric, and very few of them good and you have not often shown me those few good things, but you take care of me,” I interrupt gently and lay my hands on his broad chest. I lean in and tilt my head back to look him in the eye. “It was only three years, but it felt like a lifetime that I was alone, shunned, and hated in a place that should have been safe and happy, but you do not look at me as though I am shattered beyond repair, even after you saw what happened to Dean,” I murmur. “You are many things, Eric, and very few of them good, but I want you and all of the bad things and all of the good things, because you take me as I am and do not try and change me,” I pause and feel a sad smile curve my lips. “You are my home, Eric, and we do not belong here, so I am going to finish this and we can go back to where we belong.”

“Let me go with you,” Eric protests, catching my arm as I turn to leave. I shake my head. “Princess, you’ve never led a group into battle before and I love you, but you’re not stealthy, princess, and that’s what this mission requires.”

I am stuck on the words he let slip. I am stuck on them. I force myself up on tiptoes and push my lips against his fiercely. My heart pounds furiously against my ribcage. His arms are tight around me and I feel like I can barely breathe. I want to say it back. I want to whisper those words into his full lips and peel his clothes away and take him inside of me. He would be gentle tonight. I can feel it in the way he holds me against him. I can taste the desperation on his mouth. I want to stay with him. I want to stay where I am safe, but we are not safe in Erudite. The walls have ears and eyes and watch us constantly. I press a soft, close mouthed kiss to his lips, then another and another and then I pull myself away and struggle to catch my breath.

“Don’t do this, princess,” Eric whispers.

“I am doing this for us,” I defend and back away from him. “When we get home, I will tell you just how much you mean to me,” I promise and escape before he can stop me.

Something crashes and breaks inside the apartment behind me. I wince and hastily walk down the corridor with the silent Nate at my side. The others are waiting for us outside with the trucks we managed to acquire through not so appropriate channels. There were bribery and threats involved. I look back over my shoulder, but Eric is not following us. My heart tightens a little at the realisation. What did I expect? For him to declare the words he let accidentally slip out and drag me back to our temporary apartment? He never meant to say those words. It was a big deal for him, no matter how accidental. I have to push on and get us home so I can muster the courage to tell him how much I need him, because I do need him. I need him more than I thought that I could ever need anyone again. So, I have to do this. I have to do this to ensure that he does not throw himself into the fray once more and frighten me again. I do not like being afraid.

No one speaks as we arrive, blending seamlessly into the dark, and climb into the lead convoy. I wonder how long it will be before someone is sent to bring us back. Somehow, I get the feeling that Eric will not tell anyone of our departure. At least, not yet. He does not like this, but he chose me because he knows I am capable and ruthless when the time calls for it. He knows me. I know him. Apparently, he loves me, shattered pieces and all. I love him. Just thinking the words makes my breath stutter and my heart falter. _Love_. Nate warned me that I would feel this way, but I did not believe him until Eric said the words to me. He said them and emotion flooded me. Emotion I thought lost to me crashed through my veins and is still there, leaving me vulnerable and all the more determined. He is a weak spot for me and, yet, he makes me stronger.

Guns are passed around. I have already given instructions. They know what we are doing. We set up our communication cuffs. I left one on Eric’s nightstand. If an emergency happens, I can connect to his comm-cuff and alert him to the situation. Hopefully, it will not come to that. I take in a steadying breath and snap the ammunition into place, determination hardening my resolve. It will not take long to settle this. It is the middle of the night. There will be no expectation of an attack. They will be unprepared and, hopefully, they will be unarmed. Weapons are strictly forbidden in Amity, after all. We should have the upper hand. I just want this over and done with. I want to go home. I want to get the hell out of Erudite.

“Boss, we’ve stopped about a half a mile from the compound,” Matt says from the driver’s seat as the convoy draws to a stop. I nod and stand.

“We get eyes on the fugitives, we stun them, and we get them out,” I state simply. “I know it will not be as easy as it sounds – we have many components to deal with, which is why we will have Evie and Stu waiting at the convoys to get us out of there in case something does go wrong,” I explain and they nod around me with serious faces. “Is everyone armed with bullets, stun darts, and sleeping gas?”

“Yes, boss,” they nod.

“Move out and let us get this done before sun up,” I command and lead the way from the convoy.

We march into Amity, sticking to the shadows, and I wave everyone back into the trees when I spot movement in the courtyard. My eyes narrow and focus in the darkness. The shapes are not familiar. As my eyes accustom to the dark, I realise they are young, Amity lovers. The two embrace passionately. With a roll of my eyes, I shoot them both in the neck with some stun darts and watch them crumple. Beside me, Seth hisses in sympathy. I flash him an unimpressed look and jog towards the long, wooden building that holds guest rooms. I have examined and re-examined the blueprints of the Amity compound today. They are burned into my brain. Nothing can go wrong here. I grit my teeth together and the trio following me flatten against the side of the building at a gesture from me.

“ _We got eyes on them, boss_ ,” Nate’s voice reaches me. “ _West corridor – both sleeping_.”

“Throw in the sleeping gas and then we shall handle them,” I state. “I do not want to wake anyone else unless absolutely necessary.”

“ _You got it, boss_ ,” Nate agrees gravely.

Moments later, a white fog wisps along the ground of the long cabin. It seeps under doors and steals its way into the lungs of its unsuspecting victims. Soon, everyone will be completely oblivious to what is about to occur. This sleeping gas is not a serum, so it should effect the Divergents as it would normal people. It means that Four and Tris should be completely knocked out and easy to deal with. I could handle Tris, despite her first place ranking. That was due to her fear simulations, which she was only so good at due to her Divergent status, which I think is cheating in complete honesty. Four, however, is dangerous. I am good, even Damien has admitted that, especially with the training I have been putting in since Eric got shot, but I am nowhere near Four’s level. Even Eric grudgingly attests to Four’s skill, despite his hatred for the trainer. We have to be careful with Four and I am not going to risk my team on attempting to take down one of Dauntless’ best.

The comm-cuff crackles to life. “ _Hold it, Justice_ ,” Max’s voice states. I tense and my eyes fly to Matt at my side, who looks pale in the darkness.

“ _Jeanine switched out the sleeping gas, princess_ ,” Eric snarls. He sounds angry. I cannot tell at who when I cannot see him. “ _It’s a gas that affects Divergents – wakes them up, reveals them,_ ” Eric explains. I curse softly and jerk my chin in a sign of retreat. “ _Get the hell out of there_.”

“Boss?” Matt questions and I nod. “Move out, guys, Matthews has fucked us over,” he snaps into the comm-cuff, scowling. “Fucking bitch.”

“Not that I do not agree with you, Matt, but we really need to move,” I insist and tense at movement in the cabin. “Go,” I command and they obediently begin to jog away.

“ _Princess, it was a good plan_ ,” Eric says quietly. It reminds me of capture the flag. “ _And you didn’t even shoot anyone this time_.”

“I do not need to shoot people in order to come up with a viable plan,” I hiss back, insulted. I stop on the edge of the compound and turn to ensure my squad is getting out safely. There are more people waking up in the cabin. Soon, we will be spotted. There are lights blazing in the cabin. “Come on,” I urge, spotting the smallest member of my team – perhaps barring myself – struggling to keep up with the longer legged Nate.

A crack snaps through the air. The smallest member – what is his name? I cannot remember, but he is a newly initiated Dauntless born – crumples and Nate bellows in protest.

“ _Move it_!” I bark when Nate turns to lift the deadweight. I raise my gun and take aim in the darkness. I am out in the open. I have to be to get the good shot here, unless I managed to get into a tree, but I have no time. “Nate!” I insist and he runs towards me. I take a shot. Someone shadowed against the windows falls, but I do not know who it is. I hope it is one of the fugitives, but, if they are Divergent, they are a danger to our society. “Who are we waiting on?”

“ _Get the hell out of there_!” Eric orders furiously.

“Who are we waiting on?” I insist. I will not leave anyone behind. I cannot. Another crack. Nate falls with a scream, clutching his stomach. “Nate!” I cry in protest and run towards him, gun still raised. I fire rapidly in direction the shot came from. Someone shrieks in pain. I hope it is Tris. I hope it is with a fierceness I had not believed myself capable of. I sling my gun onto my back and grab Nate beneath the armpits. I struggle to drag him away. More gunshots. I throw myself over my friend protectively, his breathing wet and strained against my ear. “Hold on, Nate,” I gasp.

“Go, boss,” he croaks and pushes me weakly.

“I will not leave you,” I snap and hook my hands beneath his armpits once more to heave him away. “You are my friend,” I insist and feel a hatred bubbling in my stomach for Jeanine Matthews. She did this. If she had not changed my sleeping gas, things would have gone smoothly. “Hold on, Nate,” I pant and drag him into the safety of the treeline. We will not be safe for long. “You are going to be okay,” I say and hear my voice shake. “We need medics here now,” I snap into the comm-cuff.

“They won’t get in here time,” Nate gasps on laboured breath. My hand clenches in his jacket. “Thanks, boss,” he smiles at me, teeth bloodied. “For letting me in.”

“You are not allowed to die,” I protest and push my hands down on his wounds. “You are my friend,” I say helplessly. “I have so few, Nate, do not die.”

“You have Eric,” Nate points out, voice weak. “Now, get out of here, boss, find him and give him a big kiss from me.”

“You can kiss him yourself,” I retort wildly. He laughs hoarsely. “I will not get angry, I promise, just _live_ , Nate, _live_.”

Nate smiles at me sadly and his hand touches my cheek. I feel his blood smear over my flesh. I can hear Eric and Max and my team shouting fearfully through the comm-cuff. Eric wants me to run. Max is angry. He did not want me here in the first place. My team will not leave me. I will not leave Nate. I have to get him to a medic. I can save him, if I try hard enough. I just need to stem the bleeding. Gut wounds take a long time to bleed out. I learned that in initiation. If I can stem the bleeding for now, he should make it back to the hospital in the Erudite sector. I just need something to tie around his middle. So, I shrug out of my jacket clumsily and, with shaky hands, tie it sloppily around his middle. He hisses and groans in pain, but lets me. I drag his arm around my shoulders and, with a whispered apology, heave him to his feet.

“Boss, I can’t –”

“Dauntless do not give up,” I interrupt angrily and determinedly push on. “And I am not giving up on you, so you are not allowed to give up on yourself.”

He does not respond. Only his wet, staggered breathing fills the darkness and we push through the trees to the dirt road where Matt, Seth, and two others await us. Seth and Matt take Nate and we move much quicker. People are following us. I shiver in the cold air and sling myself into the back of a truck after everyone else is settled inside. Nate is on the floor before me with Evie – the most medic savvy of us – attempting to stem the blood flow. She looks pale and her eyes are wide and watery. The others look at me for guidance, but my only attempt at leadership has led to a death and my friend being shot in the stomach. That happened because Jeanine Matthews changed the sleeping gas. This is _her_ fault.

“ _Princess, please answer me_ ,” Eric’s voice growls, frustrated and worried.

“I am here,” I say tiredly and close my eyes against Nate’s whimpers. “One dead, Nate is badly injured,” I state dully. “Please make sure that medics are waiting for our arrival.”

“ _Jeanine wants to talk to you_ ,” Eric adds quietly. He is worried about Nate. Nate is his friend, one of his only true friends.

My eyes open and my jaw tightens angrily. “Yes, I wish to speak with her also,” I retort icily. “She will report to me when we arrive.”

“ _She wants you in her_ –”

“I do not answer to Jeanine Matthews, Eric,” I interrupt. “But, she has many things to answer for and she _will_ meet me, or she will not like it when I find her.”

I do not wait for Eric’s response. I yank out the bud from my ear, wrench the cuff from my sleeve, and fling it across the truck. Anger bubbles in my stomach and I drop my face into my hands. I can smell the blood. It is sour and metallic and smells like iron. It fills this small space. It turns my stomach. The rough driving does not help. The sound of Nate’s laboured breathing and wet gasps make it worse. What have I done? This is on me. What have I done? How could things have gone so terribly wrong? My plan was solid. I would have got Jeanine what she wanted. Why did she mess around with things? How did she even know? I lied to her. I lied to everyone except my team.

My team.

Did one of them betray me to Jeanine? No, Eric said I could trust them all. They are afraid of me. Most of them anyway. They follow me through fear of the consequences. Unless, they are more frightened of Jeanine and what she can do to them. I will have to find out. I will have to question them. I do not want to, but I will. It is for Nate. Nate and that dead boy. The dead boy whose name I do not know. I took him out there and have no idea what his name is. What kind of a leader does that make me? I took a boy into the field and I did not know his name. I should have known his name. It does not matter that I am terrible with names and do not have patience. I should have learned everyone’s names. I will, but it is too late now.

“Boss,” Nate whimpers. A shaky hand scrabbles at my leg. “Boss, I’m afraid,” he admits shakily and his fingers clench into my pant leg. Slowly, painfully, I sink down to my knees beside him and take his hand. “I don’t want to die, boss,” he gasps. He looks so pale and his eyes are so wide.

“Shush,” I soothe and stroke his sweaty curls out of his green eyes. I leave smears of blood on his flesh and in his hair. I squeeze his hand and keep stroking his hair. This is a terribly painful reminder of Dean. “You do not have to be afraid,” I tell him softly and keep stroking his hair. His eyes stay on mine. “I will not leave you, Nate,” I promise and something softens in his eyes. “You do not have to be afraid.”

“Dauntless are not afraid,” Nate nods and coughs. Blood spatters over his lips. Some speckles over my chest and neck.

“Fear does not define you,” I say softly and stroke his hair. “It is what you do with that fear that defines you.”

No one speaks. The only sound is Nate’s raspy breathing and Evie’s frightened whimpers. I sit there. I stroke my thumb over his knuckles and run my fingers through his curls. I keep my eyes on his and this is so like when Dean died. There was nothing I could do then either. I am so helpless and useless. All I can do is sit here and watch his usually laughing eyes. Those eyes are no longer laughing. They are full of fear and uncertainty about what comes next. I do not want him to find out. I do not want him to die. If he dies, I do not think I can be stopped. I will hunt Tris and Four and Peter down and destroy them. I will make them beg for a mercy that I will no longer be capable of providing. They shot Nate. They shot my friend. He cannot die. I cannot watch him die.

“Hey, boss, you know you’re real pretty when you smile,” Nate whispers hoarsely. “Reckon you can smile for me?”

“I do not smile, Nate,” I deny.

“You smile for Eric,” Nate points out. My throat tightens. “I’m glad he found you, Justice.”

Nate coughs again. More blood rolls down his chin and his grip grows slack on my hand. I hold onto his hand tightly. Fear tightens my throat. His eyes are afraid again. I whisper soothingly to him and watch his green-grey eyes dull. I just stare at him and stroke his hair. It seems so wrong for him to be still. He is always moving and always laughing and always talking. It is so strange to see him unmoving. I wait for him to sit up. I wait for him to do something. He does not. He just lays there and I hold his hand and I stroke his hair. His hair is so soft and springy. It does not wish to be tamed, just like him. He was so wild and uncontained and full of laughter and light. Tris and Four and Peter and Jeanine and that little Erudite boy are responsible for taking this from him – from us.

The convoy stops. The door is thrown open. The streetlights gleam against blonde hair. My head lifts slowly and my eyes fix on Jeanine. Her eyes widen. She takes a step back. I launch myself out of the convoy and slam into her. She screams. My fists soon silence that. I want to make her stop. I let the anger tear through me. I let my hate take control. It drives my knuckles into every single part of her that I can reach until she stops screaming. She sobs and whimpers through cracked and breaking teeth and split and bleeding lips. I do not care. I want her to _stop_. This is her fault. She did this. Nate and that poor boy are dead because of _her_ , because _she_ changed the gas. This could have been handled if it were not for _her_. I could have finished this and we could have gone home. _All_ of us.

“Why?” I demand, hand grabbing her chin when she attempts to turn away from me. “ _Why_?!” I scream into her face. Arms lock around my waist. I throw my elbow back and slam it into someone’s face.

“You’re – you’re a – a – a wildcard,” she stutters through broken teeth and lips and a shattered nose. It is entirely possible I have broken her cheekbones too. Not her jaw however. She requires her jaw to speak. “I can’t control you,” she is barely understandable. I understand. “I – I nee – nee – need y – y – y – you g – g –gone.”

“My friend is _dead_ because of you,” I hiss and throw a final punch into her face. She falls limp and unconscious beneath me. “Get her in a cell,” I spit at Matt as I stand. He hastily slings the leader of Erudite over his shoulder with a wide eyed, wary look thrown my way. “Whoever betrayed me to her, I will find you,” I promise darkly and stride into the shiny, shiny building of Erudite.

Tris Prior. Caleb Prior. Peter Hayes. Four. They all must die. There is no middle ground. Not anymore.

 

* * *

 

The blue is picked out of every single item of clothing that the Erudite provided me with. My squadron follows suit. Eric just watches me as I work. Nate is in the morgue. Jeanine is in a cell. Amity are under lockdown. The fugitives are on the run. Next, we take Candor and flush out the traitors. Candor. It is the place of truth. Perhaps we can find answers there. If not, I will at least find the person that shot Nate and the boy – Shane. The boy’s name was Shane and he idolised Eric so much he was willing to follow me into a fight. Someone will pay for his death. Someone will pay for Nate’s death. I will make sure that they do. I will make them pay in blood. I was raised on truth for truth. Now, I will take blood for blood.

The needle stabs into my finger. Blood wells up from the pinprick. I blink down at it and tense when Eric wraps a tissue around it. He is frowning. He crouches in front of me with his hand wrapped around the tissue crushed against my bleeding finger. He does not meet my gaze. We have barely touched since I returned and had Jeanine locked away. We still live together. We still share a bed. We just do not touch. Sometimes, in those moments between sleep and awake, when you are never quite sure when you are awake or dreaming, his fingers will be in my hair, or stroking over my skin. When I fully wake to properly concentrate on the sensation, it is gone. Either he realises, or I was just dreaming. Now, though, he has his long fingers pressing a tissue against a tiny, inconsequential wound on my finger.

“Do you hate me?” I hear myself whisper as my eyes fix on our hands and his fingers still and tense against my skin.

“No, princess,” Eric sighs and his forehead touches mine. “What you did was dangerous.”

“Jeanine is locked up, there is nothing she can do to me now,” I say confidently, but Eric snorts and rips himself away from me with a scowl on his face.

“You’re really fucking naïve and stupid if you think that, princess,” he sneers down at me. “She’s got the entirety of Erudite at her back and our faction is ripped apart!” he barks, towering over me. His face is drawn into a fierce scowl of disapproval that has never really been focused at me. I want to shift back, but my pride forces my feet to stay where they are. “We’re sat in the middle of Erudite and you’ve locked away their leader after breaking her nose and cheekbone and you’ve knocked a few teeth loose! We’re sitting ducks, princess, and you think there’s nothing anyone can do to us now! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you really that stupid?!”

“Eric, I –”

“The Erudite want you dead! The traitors want you dead! You’ve got half the city calling for your fucking head, princess, because you can’t fucking control your impulses!” he bellows into my face. I stare at him, stunned, and feel hurt weaving into my chest. “You dove into Amity! You got my best friend killed! Then you threw the Erudite leader into prison for it! If you’d just listened to me, to everyone else, Nate and that kid would still be alive right now!”

“I would have succeeded if Jeanine had not have switched out the gas bombs,” I protest quietly, but my voice quavers and I am shrinking away from him and I feel like that little girl that watched her little brother die and was desperate for someone – _anyone_ – to understand it was not my fault, even as I blamed myself for it. “You said it yourself – it was a good plan,” I say, almost begging him to stop blaming me. I feel enough guilt already without him piling it on too.

“You disobeyed me,” he snarls.

“We are equals, both leaders –”

“ _You’re a goddamn figurehead_!” Eric roars. I flinch back, eyes wide, and feel my heart pounding in my chest painfully hard. “You’re a leader because _I_ said so! You’re a leader because I thought it’d keep you out of the fucking way!” he shouts. I gasp when he grabs my arms and shakes me roughly, his eyes blazing. “I _hate_ you sometimes! I _hate_ how you make me feel! I want you to be _safe_! I _hate_ how fucking vulnerable I feel around _you_!” he spits the words, lips twisting. I flinch back, unable to escape the bruising grip he has on my arms, and feel tears gathering in my eyes. I want to argue, but no words will come. I just stare at him with my mouth open and my eyes wide and wet. “I don’t _care_ about _anyone_ , princess, _no one_ ,” he hisses, his nose almost touching my own. I whimper when he shakes me again. “Why the fuck are you so special?” he seethes and his fingers bite harshly into my skin. “You’re just some stupid bitch from Candor.”

“Er – Eric,” I stammer, voice weak and wavering. “I don’t – I don’t understand.”

“ _Don’t_ do that,” he snarls and his fingers gentle and his jaw tightens as his eyebrows furrow sharply over his eyes. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he snaps. “You never were.”

“I was doing what I thought was best,” I whisper, a tear slipping down my cheek. He growls, frustrated, and roughly wipes the moisture away with his thumb. “I never wanted anyone to get hurt,” I push the words out of my mouth, halting and painful. “I just want to go home.”

“They’re never going to let you go, princess,” Eric retorts, voice lowering. His hands tighten on my face and his body shifts closer to my own, crowding me. “We’ll have to fight our way out of here,” he murmurs, his forehead touching my own. I’m not afraid of a fight. “But, there’s nowhere for us to go, not with the traitors out there.”

“Then we destroy them,” I say simply and rest my fingers against his wrist. “We tear them down, we put someone else in charge of Erudite, and we go home.”

“You make it sound so fucking easy,” he sneers and his nose strokes over mine. His lips briefly drag over my own. I close my eyes. “It’s not going to be easy, princess.”

“I know,” I say simply and tilt my face up to his properly. “But, we can try, right? We cannot just sit in Erudite and wait for them to turn on us.”

Eric steps away from me, his face creased thoughtfully, and sinks onto the stiff couch. I much prefer the couch at home. This one is too stiff and angular. The one at home is soft and comfortable. I shift and his arm slips around my shoulders to gently tug me into his side. We are too tense to melt into one another properly and we have not had sex since we arrived in Erudite. Somehow, we have lost our ease around one another in the convoluted events that have occurred. My head is rested on his broad shoulder and, slowly, we begin to relax. My arm slips around his middle and my eyes flutter closed as my lips stroke across his neck. We can do this, just as long as we work together. We have those loyal to us and, surely, we are intelligent enough to come up with a plan to get back our city.

Slowly, Eric turns his head and his lips touch mine. I sink into him. His hand curves around my thigh, pulling my leg over his lap until I am straddling him. Our kiss is surprisingly soft and gentle as we search each other and treat one another with a careful consideration. My hands slip beneath his soft, cotton shirt and, slowly, we peel one another’s clothes away. He undoes my pants, edging them down enough to slip a hand into my panties. A breathy noise leaves me, my head tilting back to let his mouth move over my throat. My eyes half close and his fingers work me expertly. He is the one that introduced me to this world. He knows what to do because he is the only one that showed me what it is to experience these things. I slip a hand into his pants, finding him semi-erect and waiting for me, and slowly rub and stroke him. His mouth pauses against my neck for a moment, a soft sound leaving him, and I stroke him the way he taught me to.

I have to stand for the rest of our clothes to be shed. When I am stood, naked, before him, he catches my waist in his large hands and just looks at me for a moment. A confused frown touches my face, but I let him and brush my fingers over his forehead to push aside his stray pieces of hair. It is brown now. The dye has been removed from it and left it its natural, chestnut brown colour. I like it. A small smile curves my lips and his fingers drag slowly up my waist to brush over the edges of my breasts. My breath catches in my throat and my body leans into him, desperate for his touch. Gently, he pulls me back into his lap, my knees falling either side of his thighs, and our mouths meld together once again. My hands sink into his hair, tightening when he guides himself inside of me. A small, whimpering moan escapes me and I finally feel whole and filled again.

We move slowly, savouring every second, and it has been so long I feel myself getting closer with every, slow, considered drop of my hips. His hands – strong and steady and warm – grip my hips loosely, occasionally holding me in his lap or urging me along a little faster, and his stormy eyes stare up at me intently, seeing everything. I gasp and my hands tighten in his hair reflexively as my climax begins to take hold of me. My body takes over, my instinct guiding me like he taught me, and my hips rise and drop faster, grinding down against him. It takes over me, my body curving over his, fingers digging into his pale flesh, and I moan his name into his shoulder. Clumsily, I kiss and suck at the salty flesh there, whimpering his name as I splinter around him.

Suddenly, the world spins and I am abruptly on my back on the cold floor with Eric above me. His thrusts are a little sharper, but still slow and calculated. He captures my mouth in a soft kiss, cradling the back of my skull with a hand, and holds me tight against his powerful body. This is a man that loves me. It hits me so hard, all at once, and I stare up at him in amazement. He holds me so gently with his unbelievably strong hands – hands that could break me so easily. He threads his thick, blunt fingers through my hair, his hot breath puffing against my cheek and neck, and I feel myself hugging him against him, awed. How can he love me? He is powerful and strong and attractive. He could have any girl in the city, but he chose me, even though all I have done is make his life difficult and get people hurt.

Tears sting at my eyes, which I squeeze shut. I push my face into his collarbone, gasping when he tilts his hips and hits me at a different angle. I moan and my body arches, desperate for more of this man that I certainly do not deserve. My nails sink into his back in a selfish attempt to keep him close and with me and never let him go. His hands are so tight around my hips, bruising the flesh there, but I do not mind. I want him too much to care about a few bruises. I have had far worse after all. All I care about is him. All I want is him. I want his taste on my tongue, so I clumsily tilt my head back and pull his face down to my own to kiss his lips feverishly. His name leaves me on breathy, gasping pants and he groans into my ear as he fully sheathes himself inside of me, stretching me and filling me so completely and driving me over the edge all over again. He follows me this time, wet heat exploding inside of me. Warmth tightens and coils hotly in my belly, pulsing in satisfaction at the feel of him inside.

“Justice,” Eric sighs, breathless and sweaty above me. I shush him and kiss him softly, peppering kisses over his full, kiss swollen lips. “Justice,” he repeats, more defeated this time, and he lets himself sink into my pleading kisses.

_I love you_.

 

* * *

 

Candor. My faction of origin. The faction I ran away from in search of comforting lies. The faction that holds the answers I require. The faction I never wished to return to. Eric stands at my side. He makes it a little easier, as does being completely garbed in battle gear. We are ready. Max is issuing the orders today and the only reason I am here is because I know Candor and because I forcefully insisted. I do not listen to Max. I will be sticking with Eric. That is something everyone agreed on. I look up at my lover and feel his hand slip into my own, his thumb stroking over my gloved knuckles. He is not wearing gloves. His knuckles are not split open and bruised. My heart thuds a little faster and I long to press myself into his chest and wake up from this terrible dream. Only, it is not a dream. Our city is at war and we are at the centre of it all. We are the only ones that can pull the traitors back into line and restore order to our home. Then, we might actually get to go home.

The first wave move into the building, led by Damien. We are stood on the building opposite Candor headquarters. There is a zip line attaching the buildings now. Gunfire rings through the city. I just hold Eric’s hand a little tighter and turn my eyes to the building I grew up playing in. Now, it rings with the hail of bullets rather the laughter of children as they play in the marble lobby, waiting for their mommies and daddies to finish dispensing justice. I was supposed to be in that building. If Dean had not died, if I had followed the Aptitude Test, if I had been a coward, I would have been in that building taking shelter from the war that now storms the Merciless Mart. Would I have been killed? Would it have been Eric that pulled the trigger? He would not have known me. I would not have known him. Would he have just stepped over my corpse, uncaring and dismissive? Probably, but he would not have known me. Perhaps I would not have been broken and in need of him then.

Max waves a hand. Eric and I step up to our respective zip lines and exchange a final look, before we are speeding towards the Merciless Mart. I land on the rooftop and have to roll before I manage to get back to my feet. Eric does not wait for me. I would not expect him to and would be irritated if he did. I simply quicken my pace to catch up with him and lift my gun in preparation, but Damien’s team have done their jobs and everyone is unconscious thanks to the bullets provided by the Erudite. Only the Divergent should be awake and they can then be removed. Not killed. No. Now that Jeanine is locked away, we are going to put them into a secure facility until we can come to an agreement as to what to do with them. There is that box too, the one the Abnegation were hiding and Jeanine was so desperate for. The Erudite have admitted that it requires a Divergent to open it, so we may have to persuade one to help us.

Movement catches my attention. I swing around, gun lifting sharply, but I pause at the sight of a familiar little girl staring at me with wide eyes. “Lower your weapons,” I command my team and lower my own gun with a glance up at Eric. He scowls, but nods and allows me to move forwards. “Hello, Susan,” I greet carefully. She sobs and stares at me fearfully, unblinking. “Do you remember me? We lived next door to each other before I transferred,” I say gently and hold my hands up to show that I am not going to hurt her, even as my senses are on high alert in case of anyone else.

“Justice,” she whispers. “You were very sad.”

“Yes,” I agree. “I was.”

“People are scared of you,” she says, voice quavering and high. I tense a little, but nod sharply. “They said you hurt people in Amity.”

“The people in Amity hurt us first,” I snap, voice sharper than intended. She flinches. I sigh. “Susan, we just want to help keep the city safe.”

“Then why did you kill people?” Susan retorts. “They say that you killed people.”

“They killed people too,” I state firmly. “They killed my friend and a boy that trusted me.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asks, her fear potent and pungent.

“No, Susan, we are not in the habit of killing children,” I answer softly and hold a hand out. “We simply want to understand why you do not fit into the faction system and if you are a potential danger to our peace,” I tell her the truth. “Will you help us with that?”

She reaches for my hand. Eric shouts a warning. I turn sharply and lift my gun, but pain shoots through my abdomen and I feel myself staggering backwards until my feet trip over themselves and I hit the ground. The blood pounds loudly in my ears. Confusion pulses through me. I look around blearily and my eyes fix on my stomach. Blood gushes from a wound high in my abdomen, just below the ribs on my right side. It is difficult to breathe. Something is surging up my throat. I cough. Blood explodes out of my mouth. It is metallic and hot on my tongue. I try to move. People are rampaging around me. My body will not obey me. My shaking arms only lift so that my quaking hands can unzip my jacket to get a better look at the wound. I cough again and blood spatters the ground beside me, staining the white tile crimson.

“ _NO_! Let me see her! _Fuck_! Four! Let me go! Let me go to her!”

Eric. My head turns clumsily towards the sound. “Eric,” I force out, choking on the word. More blood dribbles down my chin. Then, he is there, looming over me with his strong hands stroking my face and pulling my head onto his knee. Warmth tingles in my veins, but not enough to chase the cold heaviness settling over me. “Eric,” I repeat. Fear lingers at the back of my mind. It is echoed in his wide eyes.

“Hey, princess, you just look at me, okay? You’re gonna be fine,” he tells me gruffly, closing a hand over my wound. I whimper at the pain and try to arch away from him. He holds me tightly and presses his lips to my forehead. I’m afraid. I’m afraid. I’m _afraid_. “We’re gonna be fine,” he says hoarsely. I frown at the sight of tears in his eyes. Clumsily, I lift a hand and touch my fingertips to his cheek. I leave a trail of blood and frown at the sight. “Get her a medic, Four, get her a fucking medic!” he barks, never taking his eyes off of me.

“Eric,” I cough and manage to flatten my palm against his cheek. “I – I lo –”

“No goodbyes,” he snaps. A tear drops against my finger. I stare at him, stunned. “You’re not saying goodbye, princess.”

“I’m scared,” I admit shakily, gasping for air. My words are garbled and gargled from the blood in my throat and mouth. He understands. He always does. He strokes a thumb beneath my eye and shushes me. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then don’t,” he spits. “You stupid bitch, just _don’t_.”

“I love you,” I manage.

I feel him tense.

I use what strength I have left to pull him down and kiss him. I want to feel his lips on mine.

He is warm and strong and reassuring.

My fingers slip from his cheek.

Dean smiles at me brightly and calls for me to come play with him.


End file.
